Assassin's Rise (11 page)

“We’ll save it for
tomorrow. Let’s hope the same two men will bring us an empty
cart.”

*

Roland and Jeklor lay
back to back, curled up on the floor. The cell was small, with bare
rock walls and dirt floor. The opening was sealed with a heavy
wooden door resting inside an oak frame, hammered into the hard
rock. There were several small cells and the prisoners were divided
between them, counting on body heat to keep them warm. Roland had
long since given up on the idea to escape during the night.
Breaking down the door would immediately alert the guards: sound
travelling through the mine had turned out to be his greatest
enemy.

The loaf of bread was
tucked underneath Roland’s shirt, his arms clenched around his
stomach to disguise the bulge. He had hoped that the two men who
had pushed the cart would share his cell, but no such luck. The
room was filled with heavy snores, the prisoners’ airways blocked
from the constant dust hanging in the air.

Roland could hear
Jeklor snoring behind him, and he felt grateful that the man had
joined him. No matter how angry he had felt when Jeklor had done
so, he now realised how much he counted on Jeklor during the months
underground. He thought that he might have gone insane had Jeklor
not supported him. And even if just one of them managed to escape,
he would give his all to make sure that Jeklor was the one. Chained
together inside a mountain digging tunnels had the tendency to make
one appreciate another.

*

The following day
Roland and Jeklor dug with renewed vigour, eager to fill the wooden
cart with dirt. By the afternoon (or what they deemed the
afternoon) the cart was filled with fresh earth. Roland tugged on
the rope, signalling that the cart was ready. Almost immediately
the slack in the rope was taken up, and the cart slowly rolled back
down the tunnel.

“Think it will be the
same two?” said Jeklor, leaning against the side of the tunnel,
wiping sweat from his brow.

Roland shrugged. “So
long as they are old.”

“You mean weak and
hungry,” snapped Jeklor.

Roland looked at him,
candle light throwing shadows across his face. “I don’t like it
either,” he said.

“I know,” sighed Jeklor
and lifted his pickaxe. He swung overhead and wrenched a clump of
earth from the wall. “The mine is getting to me,” he said
apologetically.

Roland knew what he
meant. Constantly hemmed in on all sides by dirt walls was enough
to make any man loose hope, and they were quick to anger.

“Just pray we don’t
strike a black reef,” he told Jeklor. If they were unlucky enough
to find a silver vein, their chances of escape would disappear.
Guards would swoop down on them and they would be under constant
watch.

The crunch of wheels on
dirt told Roland that a fresh cart was on its way. He peered down
the tunnel, trying to identify the two men. Only once they passed
by a candle further down in the tunnel, the light revealed their
features. He immediately recognised their hollowed faces. Roland
bent down and picked up his shirt that was wrapped around the loaf
of bread.

“What are you called?”
he whispered as the two men came closer.

They ignored him and
pushed the cart to the end of the tunnel. Jeklor had stopped
working and Roland motioned for him to carry on. He snorted and
continued swinging his pickaxe, dull thuds filling the tunnel.

“Wait, I have food!”
called Roland as the two men shuffled back down the tunnel. They
paused and yanked their heads around, watching Roland eagerly.
Roland unwrapped the loaf and held it out.

“It’s yours,” he
whispered.

They hurried toward
Roland, the chain bouncing between them. One man grabbed the loaf
from Roland’s hands and bit down, his dull eyes coming to life. He
tore a chunk from the loaf and swallowed without chewing, chocking
as the bread stuck in his throat. His friend watched him with
pleading eyes and he handed him the remainder, coughing and beating
his chest.

“I am called Andros,”
he said, his voice feeble. “Don’t know what his name is, he can’t
speak – got no tongue,” he pointed at his friend and grinned,
revealing smooth gums, “but I call him Dragon.”

Dragon looked up at him
and smiled, breadcrumbs clinging to his lips. On closer inspection,
Roland realised that Dragon was not as old as he appeared to be:
the years of dirt, cruelty and starvation served to make him seem
ancient, though.

“Make sure you and
Dragon bring us another cart tomorrow. I’ll have some more food for
you then,” said Roland.

Dragon nodded
enthusiastically.

“Better go now before
the guards come looking. You can eat as you walk.”

The two men shuffled
off and before they disappeared, Dragon gave Roland a small
wave.

Roland pulled his shirt
back on and grabbed his pickaxe, joining Jeklor. Clumps of earth
fell on his head but he ignored it, his face screwed up.

“Was that all?” asked
Jeklor, sounding disappointed.

“All for now. They
first have to trust us.”

Jeklor shrugged and
they continued working. Roland strained his ears to hear if there
was punishment being dealt out in the cavern, but he heard no cries
or shouts and he relaxed; the guards apparently did not notice
anything different about Andros and Dragon.

“We’ll need to find a
way to cut through these chains,” he told Jeklor as they
worked.

“It’s uncomfortable,
yes. But the chain is long enough for us to run if we have to,”
said Jeklor. He thought the discomfort a small price to pay.

“I’m talking about the
noise they make. How will we escape the mine if everyone can hear
us coming?”

“Ah ... but won’t it
make just as much noise to break it?”

Roland hadn’t thought
of that. A different obstacle met each new plan that took shape in
his mind.

More clumps of earth
fell on his head, now positively showering him. Roland shook his
head and clenched his eyes shut, rubbing his face with his
forearm.

“What the – RUN!”
Jeklor suddenly shouted and sprinted off. His leg yanked out from
underneath him; the chain linking him and Roland had pulled taut as
Roland remained where he was. He hit the floor face first with a
groan. The roof over their heads was bulging outwards, cracks
running up and down the soft earth.

“No, we need the
tunnel!” shouted Roland desperately, and grabbed a wooden board
propped against the side of the tunnel. He heaved and lifted it
over his head, pressing it against the roof. “Quick! Supporting
poles,” he yelled.

Jeklor remained on his
stomach and stretched his arm out, his fingers just touching a pole
lying in front of him. He didn’t dare move forward; Roland could
stumble and lose his hold on the board.

Jeklor groaned as he
stretched – it felt as though he was dislocating his shoulder, but
then he managed to wrap his fingers around the end of the pole.
Carefully he dragged the pole toward him; it would not do to let it
slip.

He jumped up and lifted
the pole, pressing the end underneath one side of the board. He
kicked the bottom of the pole into position, the foot end gouging
into the tunnel floor as the pole took the weight of the board.
Roland shifted to the side, pressing both his hands at the edge of
the board. Dirt trickled down the side of the board and he lowered
his head, breathing deeply as the pressure increased. Jeklor
grabbed the remaining pole and pushed it underneath the other side
of the board. Roland quickly wrenched his fingers out of the way
and helped Jeklor to shove the pole into position.

It had taken no more
than two minutes, but both men were exhausted. Jeklor fell back,
lying stretched out on the floor, looking at the roof. The
supporting structure groaned, and a bulge formed in the centre of
the board – but it held.

“Never again,” he said,
closing his eyes. “I think I made a mistake coming with you, old
horse.”

“Never asked you to,”
said Roland and pressed a pickaxe into Jeklor’s hand. “Come, let’s
hope the guards haven’t noticed anything.”

Jeklor groaned. “You
would make a splendid guard yourself,” he said and stood up.
Together they swung their pickaxes into the tunnel-end, sweat
glistening on their faces from shock and adrenalin.

They continued working,
tensed up, but no guards came sweeping down the tunnel.

“Looks like they either
don’t care or haven’t noticed,” said Jeklor finally.

“Let’s hope it’s the
latter,” said Roland and stepped back, running his fingers along
the board supporting the roof, a deep frown on his face. “Could we
–” He looked up and down the tunnel, his eyes narrowed in
concentration.

“Jeklor, help me,” he
said.

They dashed down the
tunnel toward another wooden board propped against the side, two
poles lying on top of it. They rolled the poles off the board and
carried the board back toward the empty cart.

“Like this,” Roland
said and held the board over the cart opening. The board was twice
the width of the cart, but the same length – maybe a little
shorter, thought Roland as he measured with his eyes.

“I have an idea,” he
said and grinned.

*

The gong sounded three
times and prisoners throughout the mine lifted their heads at the
glorious sound of the dull chimes; they had survived another
day.

Roland could hear tools
being dropped and chains rattling as the prisoners made their way
toward the cavern. The thunderclap of a whip-crack echoed toward
him, accompanied by yelps and pleading – somewhere a pair of
prisoners were moving too slow. At least Andros and Dragon were
safe, Roland thought. They were already in the cavern and needed
not navigate the tunnels.

As they usually did,
Jeklor started down the tunnel, but Roland held him back. “Let’s
take our time today. I want to make sure of something.”

Jeklor did not like the
idea too much; he was already envisioning a whip biting into his
back. “You saw the wounds on Andros and friend,” he said carefully.
“The weaker we get the less chance we have to escape.”

He was right, of
course, but even so, Roland felt that being late on purpose was
crucial to his plan. “I need to know if the guards will notice us
coming in late,” said Roland, his face set.

Jeklor was still not
satisfied. If the guards did notice them taking their time, not
only would they be punished, security would also tighten – but he
held his tongue. He knew Roland well enough by now to see that
there was no point in asking more questions. At times, he felt that
Roland could see things that he could not, and he had no choice but
to put his trust into the sometimes fiercely resolute-, sometimes
fiercely grim man.

“Let’s go,” said Roland
as the noise of rattling chains quieted down. They hurried down the
tunnel; the chain between their legs pulled up and held in hand,
muffling the worst of the sound.

As they reached the
cavern, the guards threw bags of food to the prisoners, and Roland
and Jeklor increased their speed to reach the food.

No one paid them any
notice.

*

Roland and Jeklor had
retreated from the fighting prisoners, breaking a loaf between
them. They had only managed to grab two loaves, and they were
saving the other loaf for Andros and Dragon.

“It’s not enough”,
complained Jeklor as he swallowed his pitiful share.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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