Rise of the Warrior Mage

So in this one, I wanted to leave the central character as a bit of a mystery.  You never get to see what he's thinking, only what others think and observe about him.

This one is also darker than any other story I've written.  Not sure that I like it, but I have a big ending in store for this one.

It's also fun knowing that I'm the only one who knows for sure what the Stranger in thinking.  I think...




            Brooding atop a mountain spur, a fortress loomed over the valley.  Heavy forest covered the sloping valley walls and the surrounding mountains.  Only the cultivated fields of the valley floor remained clear of the heavy timber, and that resulted from the never ending toil of those that worked the fields, each year cutting back the saplings which sprang up like weeds.  The fortified town around the central keep and a large village at the other end of the valley provided the homes for the local inhabitants.  The scene could be considered almost idyllic, were it not for the current inhabitants in the forbidding structure overlooking it all.
            The original settlers came for the richness of the land, and its readily available resources.  First the trappers, seeking solitude and the furs of the abundant wildlife.  The river in the valley's center provided a perfect highway to this wilderness.  Sharp eyed prospectors, simply passing through at first, noted the rocky formations on the mountains slopes and discovered the rich potential of its ores.  With the potential known, they came in greater numbers, eager to embrace the mineral wealth.  Naturally the woodsman and farmers followed.  This wild country grew almost anything once cleared of the tall timber.  A generation later serious inroads had been made in taming this land. 
            Still more people came to this rich land, drawn by the promise of growth.  The lingering threats of the wild lands, coupled with the inevitable shifts and struggles for dominance and power required the construction of a refuge, a defensible spot to preserve and protect the fledging settlements.  So came into being the keep, situated on the stony bluff at the top of the valley, positioned to reside above the mines. 
            The fortress itself became a marvel of engineering.  In fact, the tallest tower was built above a great natural cavern in the rock, reinforced buttresses of stone held the mass aloft while cleverly allowing access to the natural cavity, which in turn joined with the mines, the ever growing channels carved through dirt and stone.  Complicated canals, levees, and locks channeled an underground river safely through the man made labyrinth, allowing for easy transfer of ore on barges that never had to see the light of day. 
            Ra'Kar, as it came to be called, grew into the seat of power for the surrounding countryside.  Lords took up residence and expanded the structures to meet their needs.  The Keep and the growing town quickly became the center of the realm.  A place used extensively by the masters of the land.  Food, equipment, supplies of all types were safely housed in the great cavern, now filled with great storerooms and large halls, a warren of busy habitation under the earth.  Channels and passages were carefully finished and embellished, adding to the underground activities, manufactories and smithies turning out high quality goods for trade.  Even the underground river was channeled through aqueducts and huge cisterns to feed the needs of the castle and its town, making it that much more secure.
            The fortified town lay safe behind an outer wall, sturdy and low only in comparison with the greater wall further in.  The Lower Wall, so named because the its battlements and watchtowers only occasionally showed above the trees, held safe the cobbled streets and passageways of the sizable warren of human life within.  The Upper Wall, part of the great keep itself rose half again as tall and surrounded the three great towers of the keep.  The Gate Tower, shortest of the three at merely 100 feet, held most the keep population.  Spreading wide, with many halls and chambers, it manned the bridge and gate into the inner bailey. 
            The second tower, once called the Lord's Tower, rose still another 50 feet into the air.  Only a street a two alleys separated this tower from the hillside beyond the Lower Wall.  Tall windows stared out toward the mountains beyond, a beautiful place, this tower once housed the lord of the keep and his family.
            The last tower, 50 feet taller again, stood fully 200 feet above the courtyard below.  Once called the Watch Tower, its purpose had been exactly that, a place from which to  watch and guard against the dnagers that threatened this fortress and the Valley below.
            This was the keep called Ra'Kar.  Seat of power in the north for 200 years it stood as a bulwark of safety for those hardy enough to brave the northlands.  For generations it stood, unconquerable, sure of its role, sure of success.  So sure that the watchfulness faltered, and eventually the stronghold crumbled from within, finally falling to terror and treachery.  No longer were the tallest towers called by their given names.  The taller gained the name Dragon Tower, and the Lords Tower became the Mage Tower.
            For Ra'Kar fell to the mage and the dragon.  Complacent in its own invulnerability, the masters of the keep did not consider the wandering mage a threat, until he called down his dark ally the dragon.  Struck from within and without, the defenders fell, leaving the conquerors to start their reign of terror.  None could resist the onslaught when it came.  None dared challenge them until it was too late.
            For years, the conquered people lived, hoping only that time would eventually consume the two, freeing the land from their bondage.  But even this hope faltered.  For the two, the mage and the dragon, learned how to mingle their powers in a horrid act that granted them long lives and greater strength and power.  Thus hope seemed to die.  Those deemed as threats or challengers, dragon and human, fell to the might of Ra'Kar, until finally no more came.  Lords of the bordering lands sent close family members to live as hostages in the keep.  Neighboring kingdoms sent annual tribute to avoid the wrath of the two fortress masters.  Fear kept them in line, fear of what befell any who dared to oppose the tyrants.  Year after year, the mage through his growing guild and the dragon through his growing malice solidified their rule.  The age grew dark indeed.
Chapter 1

            No one knew where he came from, he didn’t talk much.  But everybody remembered the day that he arrived.  They brought him in alone and took him straight to the cages.  He had been bound hand and foot and they hadn’t cut him free till the cage door was closed.  Even then he still managed to break the fingers of the guard cutting him free.  His was a spirit that would be long in the breaking, but break he would.  They always broke in the end.
            For the first two days he said nothing.  He simply stood in his cage and gazed at his new surroundings with piercing eyes that clearly missed nothing.  His eagle eye took in all details of the grand cavern beneath the fortress Ra’Kar.  Not a pleasant place at the best of times.
            He occupied a cage on the end of the fourth and highest row of stacked, open cells.  Not because of his status, but merely because that was the closest cage to the entry door and the guards did not want the fight that carrying him had been to last any longer than was needful.
            The cages were on terraces to one side of the cavern.  Anyone brought into the cavern and the dungeons of Ra’Kar was brought past the cages.  The highest row of cages only reached halfway up the chamber’s total height.  Directly in front of them, the leveled floor that led into the hoard room where the dragon Tirocth kept his mass of gathered treasure.  To either side of the hoard room flaming vents put out fire and light and smoke.  This was the greatest source of light in the vast cavity, and it invariably drew each eye to the dragon whenever he was present on his couch at the head of his hoard.  Right above the couch was the well that the dragon dropped down when coming from his tower in the upper keep.  The tower, once the tallest of the fortress, now stood unroofed to allow the dragon entrance.  He alone lived in the ruined tower and the large well at its base provided his own personal access to the cavern.  The dragon tower and the hoard room were the only places of any interest to the dragon in the keep.  From his couch Tirocth could watch the prisoners in the cage, those that cowered amused him, and those that showed strength or courage intrigued him. 
            Tirocth and the local Wizard guild were the masters of the Ra’Kar fortress and had been for over two centuries.  The Guild Master had forged an alliance with Tirocth in order to seize the fortress, and both had used the fortress and the alliance to their own ends ever since.  It quickly became a place to fear and dread, a place of dark power.
            The arrangement was simple.  Tirocth got a place to keep his hoard in reasonable security, along with the starring role in a rite of power where both the dragon and the guild master profited.  The guild master reaped his own benefits from the foul rite, long life and power, and also ruled the surrounding countryside with an iron fist through his guild. 
            The rite involved the sacrifice of specific prisoners and the absorption of that prisoner’s strength and power by the actuaries of the rite.  It required the dragon’s fire and the guild master’s magic combined.  The dragon’s strength was maintained and enhanced and the guild master kept his youth and increased his might.  Both had to work together for the rite to succeed, and so they had for two centuries.  But neither had any doubts that it was a marriage of convenience and that if either one ever faltered for a single moment, the other would destroy the weaker member of the alliance within the space of a single heartbeat.
            During the last two centuries the guild master had winnowed the ranks of his guild, drawing the numbers of potential challengers down even as he asserted his control over the surrounding lands.  His interest was in sole power and he wanted no threats to his security.  He accepted only those acolytes completely devoted to his cause, those that would never equal his power.  And the goal had worked well. 
            He had quickly conquered the territory immediately surrounding Ra’Kar and then had built his influence to the neighboring kingdoms and lands.  Tribute regularly came to the guild coffers and the guild members exercised increasing control, commanding kings and lords with relative impunity.  One did not lightly cross Ra’Kar, and if a kingdom was foolish enough to do so, the lash of the dragon and the strength of the wizard fell quickly on the hapless victims, and large groups would come to repopulate the dungeons and slave pens beneath the great fortress.
            This brings us back to the great cavern, the cages, the dungeons, and the slave pens under Ra’Kar.
            Those brought into the cages were the choice prisoners, the ones there either to learn the folly of crossing the masters of Ra’Kar, or the ones that fit the bill for the rites that fed the dragons and the master wizard’s power.  Prisoners did not last long in the cages, the cages proved detrimental to life.
            The side of the cavern closest to the new prisoner's cage led the slave pens and then on into the labyrinthine mines below the mountains behind the great fortress.  These slave pens supported the guild master’s tower, the one the prisoners and slaves were brought through when they came to the cavern.  The other side of the great cavern held the manufactories and great forges of Ra’Kar.  Above these loomed the third and final great tower of the Fortress Ra’Kar.  There was no entrance to the cavern from the third tower.  Most of the keep’s population resided in this tower.
            Such was the new home of the unfortunate prisoner.
            It was the third morning of the new prisoner’s tenure when the guild master and the dragon came to enact the fell ritual that brought them together.  A young mage proved too independent of mind and was seized, bound, brought to the fortress, and thrown into the cages.  The decision to end his life quickly made, the principals wasted little time in their activities.
            Tirocth arrived first dropping like a smothering shadow from his well entrance.  His arrival never failed to bring screams and cries of terror from the majority of the occupants in the cages and the nearby slave pens.  He relished those sounds and rumbled an ominous chuckle at the effect of his entrance.
            The guild master arrived minutes later, coming alone through the door from his tower.  He descended to the level floor at the base of the cavern, casting only a cursory glance on the occupants of the cages.  Several guards waited anxiously for his arrival at the bottom of the stairs, casting wary glances at the now recumbent form of the dragon.  The wizard wordlessly motioned them to bring the victim of rite to the center of the floor.
            The ritual victims always resisted.  The young mage proved no different.  He tried to bring his power to bear against his captors, but his hands were shackled in rune carved iron that crippled his magical prowess.  These would be removed of course, but only once the young mage was held between the dragon and the guild master.  The guards dragged the helpless young man to the middle of the floor.
            The guild master already stood in his place, muttering words of magic to bring the necessary wards into place, after all he would be enveloped in dragon fire during the rite and did not want to face that heat completely unprotected.  The complex wards would only allow a special power through unhindered.  The dragon slithered across the floor and took his position across from the guild master, his fire already heating the ground upon which they stood.
            The guards wasted no time, moving with quick steps they brought the victim to his position.  At a nod from the guild master they unshackled the prisoner and fled from the scene.  The prisoner tried to follow but the now combined might of the dragon and the guild master wizard had already seized the hapless man.  Small sparks sprang up as the young wizard tried his now freed power, but it proved to no avail. 
            The guild master released his opening spells and the dragon advanced.  Fire seemed to drip from his opening maw running in rivulets across the floor.  The flames ringed the prisoner for a moment, then the dragon pushed his head forward and almost delicately picked the young wizard up in his jaws.  The man’s screams clearly showed that he was still alive in the awful maw.  The dragon leaned his head back and waited several seconds, a special fire building within him.  The guild master watched closely and released the final spell of the rite with the wave of his hand.  The air rippled around the both of them and the flickering flames suddenly roared into a solid sheet of light that encompassed all of them.  The dragon suddenly spouted new fire from deep in his throat, fire that exploded through his teeth, consuming the victim of the rite.  A bright flash of light flared from his now opening maw, back down his throat and also down upon the guild master.  As quickly as it flared up the light faded, the flames dropped, and the rite was over.
            The new prisoner watched the ritual with little reaction.  His eyes adjusted back to the darkness following the flash of light and he saw the dragon and the guild master still facing each other, eyes locked on each other, searching for that moment of weakness that would let one strike the other down.  As it had so many times before the balance between them held and they wordlessly backed away from each other, out of the blasted circle on the floor that was site of the rite.
            As they became aware of the others in the cavern they both felt the piercing gaze of the most recent arrival.  The one heart in the room that held little fear.  Both turned their heads to the newest prisoner and took in his now defiant stance.  Something passed between the guild master and the dragon as they met the determined gaze of the unbowed man. 
            The dragon did little to hide his intrigue.  He advanced across the floor, and much to the terror of the other caged unfortunates, climbed the cages until his head hovered over the defiant man.  His great maw opened once again.  The man stepped back and braced himself for the fire.  Instead of the blast of incinerating heat that all expected the dragon inhaled deeply, drawing the air into his lungs with a violent rush.  The man staggered forward at the unexpected rush and the dragons tongue flashed out to momentarily seize the man then to release him and withdraw.  The man fell back and shuddered at the touch of the tongue, but continued to stare defiance into the throat of the beast before him.  The smell of the breath as the dragon exhaled, proved foul and almost overpowering.  Tirocth was close enough for the man to see the throbbing of the veins in the soft inner linings of the dragon’s mouth and throat.  Slowly the dragon withdrew; sliding down the top of the other cages, metal frames creaking as they barely supported the weight of the great creature's passing.
            At the bottom of the cavern Tirocth turned to the guild master and said, “We must talk.”
            The guild master nodded wordlessly and moved toward the stair.  Tirocth sprang up to the well and deftly climbed out of view.  When the guild master reached the top row of cages he stopped and studied the prisoner, meeting his unflinching gaze.  For several long moments they stood thus, then with his lips tightening in irritation, the guild master turned away and moved quickly to the door of his tower, leaving the prisoner to smirk at his back.


Chapter 2

            “Where does he come from?”  The dragon’s rumble shook the ledge upon which the guild master stood.  The guild master hardly registered the fact.  Not so the huntsman who stood by his side.  He stood somewhat wild-eyed with his back to the wall, not so much scared by the heights as by the dragon before them.
            They perched on a ledge just inside the dragon’s ruined tower.  Here the guild master would come in the infrequent times that he and the dragon needed to speak.  He almost never brought others with him, but this time both the dragon and the guild master sought information on where this new prisoner had come from.  The huntsman was the leader of the guards who roamed the land around the fortress.  His men had brought in the stranger and now he supplied the details of his capture.
            The guild master motioned for his Huntsman captain to speak.
            “We took him just outside the fortress, milord,” stammered the huntsman, nervously eyeing the dragon.  “He was lurking on the hillside next to your tower,” he motioned toward the wizard, “he had a great long bow and looked like he was trying to set up a shot at you sire.”  As he talked, the wizard gingerly held three large arrows, taken from the prisoner, which the huntsman had given him.  Arrows forged in magic, arrows designed to pierce wards.  Arrows meant to kill magicians.
            The soldier hesitated, then continued, “It was obvious he had been there for some time.  We saw little sign of him until we finally found his camp, he is good at woodcraft.  He was spotted only when he sky lined himself on the ledge closest to your tower, almost as if he wanted to be seen truth be told.”
            “So you took him,” murmured the guild master.
            “Aye, but not easily.  He killed three of my better men before we could subdue him.  We would have killed him outright except that you ordered that anyone who got that close needed to be questioned.  When we took him he showed he was a strong fighter, so we thought of your ritual…,” here he stammered to a stop.  The dragon eyed him balefully.  “We took him straight to the cages.”
            The huntsman’s face twisted wryly as he kept up the report, “ he broke Blearic’s fingers when he cut him free, with the cage door already closed.  Blearic used a broad blade spear but had his hand between the haft of the spear and a cage bar when the prisoner got his hands on the haft, just a quick twist and thump and two fingers broken.  He has fast hands,” finished the Hunstman.
            “So you do not know where he came from?” asked the Guild master. 
            The dragon leaned forward to hear the answer.  The huntsman swallowed hard then answered, “He did not carry anything that gave away his origins.  His clothing is mostly from around here, must have picked it up on his way here.  He bears no marks that might indicate his origin and he says almost nothing.  We could discern no accent.  By his looks he could be from any of several of the surrounding kingdoms.”
            “So you don't know where he is from?” asked the wizard.
            “No sire. I'm sorry.”  He dropped his gaze from his master’s eyes.  The guild master motioned his dismissal and the huntsman beat a quick retreat out the alcove that accessed the ledge. 
            Tirocth watched him go with a dismissive snort.  “Worthless!”  was all he said.
            The guild master eyed the dragon warily.  “He's served me well for several years.  I've no complaints about him.  He gave what information he had and did not lie.”
            “Still he is worthless.  He gave no useful information.”
            “Why the interest dragon?  The prisoner is here.  Do we need to know all about him for the rite to proceed?” questioned the wizard.  Then answering his own question, “No we do not.  We can proceed at any time.  This one has strength and ability that will serve our purposes.”
            “You know my interest wizard.  You saw and felt what I felt.  We have not had such a one as this for almost a century.  He has unique strength of will and near endless determination.  He does not quail before me.  You know what we can do with this.  He did not taste of fear at all, and I tried to scare him.  Nervous yes, but prepared and controlled, not consumed by fear.”
            “We will need to alter the rite and that will take time to prepare,” the wizard paused.  “You know that we must test his resolve and determination.  He must be hurt.  He must be near to breaking if we are to get this to work.  Remember that we gained little from the last one.  She didn't give us what we sought.”
            “You broke her spirit.  With this one, he will not break I think.  He is hard, but not brittle as she was,” replied the dragon.  “He will give us what we need.”
            The wizard still hesitated, “He concerns me Tirocth.  He came here clearly for a purpose.  Most likely to kill me.  I believe that he's from Thorador, come to take his revenge on me for his people.  I sense that there's an unknown and unpredictable danger to the both of us from him.  He bothers me.”
            Tirocth stretched his neck up and cocked his head so that one baleful eye stared straight into the wizards face.  “You are afraid of him,” he remarked.
            “As you should be.  There's a look about him, he brings foreboding to me.  Remember that I'm rarely wrong in these things.”
            “Guild master,” spat the dragon, “you are pathetic and afraid.  This one is strong, yes.  He could be a danger, but he is in our hands.  Who has ever escaped from the cavern since we came to power?  No one.”
            The dragon continued, “Twice in the past two centuries we have had the chance to alter the rite this way.  The first succeeded!  We did not just refresh our strength, our power.  We trebled our very potential!  Increased the amount of power we could bring to bear!  We took a powerful will and determination and made them our own.  Our very potential leapt and increased with that one rite!  The second failed and we got nothing, not even the renewal of our strength.  But we will not waste the chance to gain so much, not just refresh the power that we hold, but increase our capacity  and ability to exercise power.  We gain tenfold, a hundredfold more from this altered rite!”
            “Neither of those two had this depth of resolve,” stated the wizard.  “You are not human Tirocth.  I can see more nuance than you.  His will matches my own now, after that special rite you speak of.  If he possessed magical knowledge, I would fear this one and avoid a conflict with him.”
            An amused rumble issued from the belly of the dragon.  “You need not worry wizard.  One of your kind that could match me?  No human has yet been born who could match me, let alone best me.”
            The wizard did not miss the veiled reference to himself.  Still he smiled with his response, “This much I know for certain Tirocth, the man who can kill you has already been born.  I have cast the auguries and this I know for certain.”
            “Bah,” snarled the dragon with thinly veiled anger.  “When you think that you are ready for the challenge I will allow you to strike thrice before I retaliate.  We both know how that will end.”
            The wizard considered it.  He knew that his strength matched the dragon closely, but could not be certain that he held the upper hand.  The augury could not lie, he knew that the one who could kill Tirocth breathed.  He had cast the augury himself not twenty years past.  It could be him that the augury indicated, most likely it was so. But he did not know for sure, and without that knowledge he would not attempt to strike that dragon.  Unfortunately he could not recast the augury to get more information.  Once an augury was cast its mark was upon you and to attempt to recast an augury, or one too similar in nature to the first, would surely bring destruction and death.
            No he would bide his time, for now.  The opportunity would present itself someday.  The rite maintained his youth indefinitely.  If the man breathed and it was not him, he had only to wait until an opportunity presented itself for him to kill Tirocth, or wait unhelpful on the sidelines until the deed was done. 
            The guild master smiled benignly at the dragon, “Our partnership is worth too much.”
            The dragon laughed his response, “You are a coward!”
            The wizard refused to rise to the bait.  “I am prudent, and alive.  And I am your equal; otherwise you would kill me right now.”
            The dragon lunged at the precarious ledge, fire rising in his opening maw.
            The wizard stood unmoving, unflinching.  He knew the dragon would stop, and he did.  They faced each other unmoving for several long moments.
            The dragon turned away in a rage, “Leave now.  Start your preparations for our guest.”
            The wizard smiled as he turned away.  He felt that he had come out best in that exchange, and in that he took great satisfaction.  But as he crossed the narrow rail-less bridge that joined his tower to the dragon’s his disquiet over the ominous prisoner returned.  The strength evident in this man frankly scared him. 
            As he entered his tower he closed the wards and pondered further on his predicament.  A glimmer of an idea presented itself as he reviewed his conversation with the dragon.  The second special rite had failed because the victim, a sorceress, had been pressed too hard in the month leading up to and then in the final moments right before the rite.  For this second special rite to succeed the sacrifice had to be at their absolute limit, exhausted, unable to bring their will to focus enough to resist any further, but not quite at the point of giving up.  Not quite broken or the recipients of the spell would receive nothing from the ritual.
            It was a fine line to walk, sometimes presenting a window just a few minutes in length, a time just before the chosen prisoner usually broke.  The sorceress had held until placed in between the dragon and the wizard, then she had collapsed in a storm of weeping.  Unable to revive resistance they had continued the rite only to receive… nothing.
            The dragon blamed the wizard for the waste of that opportunity; he had pushed her too hard.  The final brutal days of her existence proved too terrible to withstand.  The wizard blamed the dragon for his overly theatrical approach to the victim of the rite.  The disagreement almost brought them to strike at each other, but both had turned away.  Almost a year passed before they consented to return to the normal rite after that had happened.
            But what happened before could be made to happen again.  If the man’s spirit broke before the rite, they would get nothing from him and would have no need to carry out the rite.  The dragon would almost certainly fall in rage at that point, and while he would be dangerous, he would also be incautious, and that might be the moment to strike.  One blow, well timed would be more than sufficient to cripple the dragon, then shield himself from the counterstrike and finish the dragon when his furious but crippled power had failed.  If he stuck first it would almost certainly prove a victory for him.
            The guild master contemplated his developing plan as he sent for Versid and Gidean.  Versid was the captain on his guards, and Gidean was the chief overseer in the dungeons.  Gidean was the better man of the two, but Versid had what the wizard needed now.
            By the time they arrived the wizard had his plan firmly in mind.  He delivered his instructions without preamble.
            “The prisoner most recently brought to the cages is to go into the slave pens.  He gets the hardest work, the longest hours.  I want him to cower.  Keep him alive, but that is the only other rule besides hurting him, breaking him.  Waste no time at it.”  Both men nodded mutely, one with eager anticipation, one with a mounting sense of dread.
            The Guild Master motioned a dismissal to them.  As the two men turned away they heard him address one of the current acolytes.  "Bring me the Lady Elaine from the visitors wing, I desire entertainment this evening."
Gidean shuddered as he passed through the door and made his way to toward the stairs to the cavern below.  Versid noted the shudder and sneered at the other man, "You're soft Gidean.  Maybe I should kill you today so the Master can choose a new overseer, one with spine!"
            Gidean turned a stubborn face toward the arrogant captain.  "Strike me then, Captain.  Strike me and report that to the Guild master.  In all likelihood he'll give you to the dragon.  I count that a fair trade.  My clean death to your torturous one." 
            Both men hated each other, but then both knew that Gidean, although a slave himself, held a secure position with the Guild master.  Even the dragon recognized Gidean's usefulness and skill, his ability to manage the slaves and their work.  No, Gidean was much more secure than Versid, so he could call the other's bluff.  Yet he was still a slave, and the guard captain held out strong hope that he could cause the favorite slave to fall from grace.
            "The day of change comes Gidean, and I welcome it."  Versid spat at him and shouldering by went down the stairs to his work.  Gidean cast one last look back toward the way they had come.  He saw the slumped shoulders of a formerly regal woman as the acolyte led her toward the waiting wizard.  Gidean muttered angrily under his breath. 
            Two floors of the Mage's tower held visitors from the lords within his realm and from royal families in neighboring nations.  Hostages, these unfortunates were not well treated by the master of Ra'Kar.  But he could do nothing to help them.  He could only protect his charges as best he could.  His mood darkened as he recalled the Guild master's instructions.  Even then, some of his charges, the slaves and prisoners below, he could not protect.  He sighed and followed Versid down the stairs.

            The start of the stranger's first day of labor nearly proved disastrous.  Versid insisted on taking him to the forges.  He would spend the day working the bellows.  To conserve space, the builders placed the bellows close between forges.  Those who worked them always came away with large burns, severely dehydrated, sick from fatigue.  Gidean, under orders from the Guild Master, could do little to change the plan. 
            Versid gathered three of his men to take the prisoner to his new post.  A blacksmith accompanied them, carrying the manacles that were to bind the man.  Expressionless, the captive watched their approach.  Versid never hesitated, leering at the captive.  "Time to earn your keep, corpse!"
            He motioned his man forward, the two others, with Versid, leveled their spears at the door.  The key twisted in the lock with an audible click.  Almost too fast to see, the captive slammed his bulk into the door throwing the unfortunate guard back toward the spears.  His fellow guards dropped the spear tips so not to stab the falling man through.  Lightning quick the attacker came through the door, leaping over the lowered spears.  He might have made it, had there been anywhere really to go.  But there was no escape.  Still it provided entertainment to the slaves in the cavern below. 
            The man caught up one spear and vaulted to the top of the cages, running nimbly along their tops, jumping down toward the cavern floor.  He made toward the tunnels that would lead to the mines, stopping only when he saw an acolyte wizard emerge from the mine.  The wizard never hesitated, sweeping a staff up in the direction of the escapee.  A wall of force struck him to the floor, still he landed and rolled stumbling to his feet.  The escape progressed no further, however, for Versid had caught up, holding a length of chain snatched from the waiting blacksmith.  He whipped the chain out, striking the stranger across the head and shoulders while he shook off the stunning effects of the wizard blow.  Then he advanced on the falling man, kicking him to the floor and binding him tightly.  It still took all three of his men to hold the prisoner as the shackles were attached to wrist and ankle.  Versid and his men then proceed to jerk and pull the chains back and forth until the manacles cut deep into the unprotected skin.  The stranger took it soundlessly, scorn showing on his face.
            "Enough!" a loud voice stopped the mayhem.  Gidean strode forward, pushing his way between the guards.  He strode up to the man, who tensed, coiled, ready to spring.  Gidean said nothing, merely grasping the manacles gingerly and pulling them away from the injures wrists.  The stranger did not resist, but continued to hold his ready stance as much as possible.  His eyes followed Gidean's every move.
            "Water!" barked Gidean.  "And Olea, bring some clean rags as bandages."  He returned the stranger's gaze, getting a subtle nod in return.
            A nearby slave scurried forward, carrying a bucket, casting fearful glances at the guards.  A woman, Gidean's wife, came from the tunnels with strips of cloth.  Gidean cleaned the wounds and bound them as well as he could, even going so far as the bind the manacles themselves in an effort to stop them chafing the wounds.
            "You'll still have to work the day on the bellows, but the bands should hold the manacles clear of the wounds till they scab.  I get the feeling that you'll be working the bellows often in the coming days, so I'll leave you the rags for now and see that you get clean ones each morning."  Then turning to the guards, "I'll see that you take him to his post and bully him no more.  If you'd waited for me you'd not have had the struggle."
            Versid stalked forward, sword sliding from his sheath.  "He broke out, and I get to punish him, then I'll deal with you for interfering where you're not needed.
            Gidean faced him down.  "Go ahead.  Harm him.  I daresay he'll take that sword of yours and spill your guts with it.  We'll not miss you, and the master has uses for this one, so he'll likely go unpunished until his time.  As for me, we both know our standing.  Strike if you've the courage!  Strike!"
            The last word came as a great shout.  The captain flinched back involuntarily.  His gaze darted toward the acolyte, watching the exchange with an idle smile.  He swallowed and stepped back, ramming his sword into his sheath.  Then stepping forward he backhanded Gidean across the face, sending the older man down.  "Stay out of my way old man!  I won't tolerate this!"
            He glared around the cavern, but no one met his gaze.  Even the stranger was looking elsewhere, his gaze resting on the acolyte instead of the guard captain, his eyes expressionless as he watched the wizard turn away from the exchange with a bored expression.  Only then did he turn his eyes back to Versid, who saw such a loathing in them he actually stepped back in shock.  The stranger stepped as close to Gidean as he could and pulled him to his feet.  Gidean wiped the blood away from his lips and spat at Versid's feet.
            "Get out of this cavern!  I'll see this man to the bellows."     
            Versid stepped back and Gidean wrenched the chains out of the guards hands, turning his back on them and dismissing them from his mind.  Versid turned away in rage and shame, motioning his guards to follow.  They wordlessly complied.
            Gidean led the unresisting stranger toward the forges.  Muttering under his breath, and wiping stray flecks of blood from his chin, he mostly ignored his charge until they reached the bellows.  The older man bent and hooked the end of the chain to an iron ring in the floor next to a large wooden rod.  He turned slowly back toward the stranger, blowing out his breath in a long sigh.
            "Right, simple enough.  You're to pump this handle up and down today, all day.  Strong even motions in time to the drum."  Gidean motioned toward the head of the forge chamber where an old man took up two large drum mallets.  Other slaves were feeding the forges wood and coal, building the flames to the right height.  Once the fuel was in place the old slave began his methodical tempo.  Around the chamber the great bellow's began their rhythmic dance, rising and falling under the efforts of the slaves.  The stranger grasped the long wooden rod attached to his bellow and fell in with the others.  Gidean turned to leave.  "I send a girl with water every half hour.  The drummer breaks every hour for a few minutes rest.  We have enough smith's here that the fires are needed pretty much constantly."
            The stranger surprised him with a response, the first words he had spoken since his arrival.  "You've strength; and respect.  That says something about you, even here."
            Gidean turned back in surprise but the stranger had already turned back to the bellows, raising and lowering the rod in smooth even strokes.  Gidean hesitated a moment longer, them shrugging his shoulders awkwardly, moved about the rest of his morning tasks.  A sense of foreboding warned him that he would be back before the end of the day.
            Naturally, the water girl brought word of the next incident shortly after mid day.  Gidean barely had to hear her breathlessly announce, "The stranger..." before he started running for the forges, cursing his age for slowing him down.
            He arrived to find the stranger still chained to the floor, his hands still firmly grasping the bellows rod now raised to it's highest point.  There he stood, still and rigid, his head bowed and chin pressed hard into his own chest.  The smiths working at the forge had stepped back from the forge, their work rolling large nails forgotten in the mayhem of the moment.
            Versid had come with four of his guardsmen.  One, a great bull of a man named Belerue, was the worst of the lot.  Cruel to the core, he worshipped Versid and always sought his favor being the most willing of his subordinates.  Today was no exception.
            They stood ranged around the forge and the stranger, both Versid and Belerue with whips.  Half a dozen raw lashes showed through the stranger's now tattered shirt, mute evidence that the fun had already begun for Versid.  All the while the stranger stood unmoving, except for minute adjustments of his head and those roving eyes, never missing anything.  But in this stance he could do nothing.  Gidean moved toward Versid to put a stop to the abuse. 
            The stranger shook his head with one sharp jerk, meeting Gidean's eye, stopping him in his tracks.  Clearly the stranger wanted no interruptions this time.  Versid laughed and struck yet again with his whip, this time leaving a lash just below the mans shoulders.  The stranger flinched but made no sound.
            Versid mocked the man, laughing at his inability to stop the lashes from striking.  Belerue took his turn, striking the mans legs, causing him to lurch momentarily.  Gidean raged inside, but another quick glance from the stranger again kept him from action.  One of the younger guards winced at the crack of the whip on skin.  Versid saw and snapped a sharp crack of the whip at the hesitant guard, berating him for weakness.  Then he turned his full attention back to the stranger.  He circled his victim confident in his power, his own ability to assail without fear of reprisal or repercussion.  He pulled his arm back yet again, then delivered yet another terrible overhand lash.
            This time, the stranger moved.  One arm snapped out catching the lash end of the whip.  With a swift twist of the body and a sharp jerk of the arm, the stranger yanked the whip from Versid's hand.  Smoothly he stepped back releasing the wooden rod to fall toward the floor, it dropped slower than one might expect as the air whooshed out of the bellows. 
            Belerue was already moving, his own whip whistling as he struck out at the troublesome slave.  But he miscalculated, his lash fouling with the dropping wooden rod and missing it's intended target.  Meanwhile the stranger caught up the handle of Versid's whip shaking the leather free of his arm at the same time.  Versid stumbled back trying to get out of range of the weapon, but the stranger was fast enough to curl the lash around Versid's calf, jerking him from his feet.  The guard captain fell into a work bench spilling the still hot nails all over the floor and on top of himself.  He screamed in pain and tried to roll away, only contacting more of the heated nails.  The stranger struck toward Belerue, causing the big guard to scamper back out of the way.  His next pass returned to Versid, laying open the seat of the guard captain's pants, leaving a bleeding lash in the buttock beneath.  Then he turned back to Belerue.
            The large guard had pulled his whip free of the rod and now swung it with all his might toward the stranger's head.  The stranger snapped his whip up, twisting it oddly at the same time, hopelessly tangling the two ends.  Both men jerked at their ends of the now bound length of leather, each trying to pull the other off balance.  Muscles strained and both men stepped around the bellows trying either to unbalance or trip up the other. 
            In the end, the chain proved the stranger's undoing.  Unable to maneuver as freely as Belerue, when pulled to the end of the chain he fell first.  "Beat him!" screamed the still prostrate Versid and Belerue was on the slave in a moment, pummeling with his fists.  The stranger held his arms up in defense and managed to get Belerue to strike one of the heavy metal manacles on his wrist.  With and oath, Belerue stood, shaking a now bleeding fist.  He pulled back, drawing his short sword from his belt.
            "Die worthless scum!" he shouted as he raised his arm to strike.  But the blow never fell.  Even as he raised his sword, he stumbled forward, staring down in surprise at the spike suddenly protruding from his own chest.  His sword dropped from nerveless fingers.
            "I get to kill this slave, at the time of my choosing!" rumbled a great voice from the entrance of the forges.  Tirocth languidly pulled back his tail, Belerue still skewered on its tip, struggling weakly.  Tirocth cast a baleful eye toward Versid, "See that your men are held in check Captain, or suffer the same fate as this upstart."
            With cruel and deliberate slowness Tirocth brought Belerue to his great maw.  He took his time, taking several bites from his gurgling victim before finishing him outright.  Then he turned and slithered back to his trove, pointedly ignoring those unworthy of his further notice.
            Versid staggered to his feet his face ashen.  Trembling, he limped wordlessly from the forge, followed in silence by the three remaining guardsmen.  One of the younger ones glanced back at the stranger sketching out a quick nod before leaving.  Gidean watched them go in silence, only turning back toward the stranger once they were gone.  The stranger knelt on the floor in a defensive crouch, eyes still following the receding form of the dragon, disgust plain on his face.  The stranger, momentarily off guard with the dragon, let his fist open, giving Gidean clean view of the three long nails held within.  When Gidean glanced up at the strangers eyes, they met his own with an iron determination.  They held the view for several long moments, then Gidean shrugged and turned away, gathering up the remaining nails and helping to lift and restore the fallen work bench to order.
            When he turned back to the stranger he was back on his feet, at the bellows, waiting to resume his work.  Gidean could see no sign of the pilfered nails.  He stepped up to the stranger, making a show of inspecting his wounds.  He whispered under his breath, "I leave you the nails, but know this, the only reason they'll be of use to you is in taking your own life!  You are to be used in the ritual, or broken first.  Your only release is death.  Don't let it be useful to the mage and the dragon!"
            When Gidean moved around to where he could see the strangers face again, he felt startled to see a grim smile.  "My death will be anything but useful to them, You have my word and oath on that!"

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