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
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
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
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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