In Service Of The King (Book 2) (6 page)

A rush of hot, foul air came through the door like wind. The unmistakable acrid odor of death met Joseph as he was pushed forward, through the door. A circular stair leading downward lay beyond, one cut directly out of the rock.

“Never get used to the smell,” Chamberlain said to one of his men. “Well, down with him. Gazal will be happy to see fresh blood.” Taking a lit torch from the wall the magistrate led the way, down the winding stair.

Joseph eyes and nose stung from the pungent smell of rot in the air; he felt it settling on his face and arms. His stomach turned within him. With an effort, he kept his face set. The group descended the stair a long time. Joseph lost count of the times they’d gone around before the stairs ended at a small landing, and a wooden door.

Winded, Chamberlain caught his breath for a moment then rapped on the door. After some time it opened slightly; a man in a crimson, hooded cloak spoke quietly with Chamberlain for several moments. Joseph could not make out what they were saying. The cloaked man stepped back and moved out of sight.

Chamberlain turned to Joseph.

“Bring him forward,” he ordered. His sickly smile made Joseph want to smack him. The point of a dagger pressed slightly into Joseph’s back. He unwillingly walked forward--through the open doorway--into a dimly-lit room. The door closed with a thud behind him. No longer feeling the dagger, Joseph glanced behind him. Neither Chamberlain--nor the guards--were anywhere to be seen. The air around him felt completely still and silent.

Turning back around Joseph found himself in the midst of a small, underground cavern. In the center of the room--some thirty feet away--stood a priest. He stood shorter than Joseph, and looked considerably older. The man’s graying beard was meticulously cut; his spotless crimson robe flowed out onto the stone floor. His attendant in the cloak stood agains the far wall, watching the new prisoner in silence.

The priest stood next to brilliantly-white attar filled with clear water, quietly washing his hands. He didn’t seem to notice Joseph but continued his ablutions. Joseph studied him, and the cloaked man warily for a moment before glancing around for his bearings. The cavern he stood in appeared to be about fifty feet across, from his reckoning. Stalactites studded the rock ceiling overhead, pointing down like the teeth of some huge beast. At the far end of the space--opposite the wooden door--stood an open, dark archway, leading into some other room. Light, heat and noise emanated through the archway; in the swirl of muted sounds Joseph detected clinking of hammers, metal, steam and crackling fires... the sound of industry. Under the heavy odor of death lay more familiar things: wisps of smoke and the sharp, mineral scent of metal smelting.

As he stood motionless and waiting, other sounds reached his ears. Between the bustle of the next cavern and the splashing of the priestly washings, Joseph detected a low, mumbling sound, somewhere close by. As his eyes adjusted further to the low light he finally spied the shape of a man--sitting on the floor--hidden in the shadows behind the priest and his attar. The seated figure swayed back and forth, staring at a wall and chanting. At least, it appeared to be a man; his skin was covered in a strange gray paint, like charcoal mixed with clay. The figure’s matted hair stuck up wildly from his head, festooned with rodent and bird skulls. He sat cross-legged--with his arms straight out in front of him--never ceasing the mumbling, nor his swaying.

Joseph watched intently as the figure moved back and forth; the man appeared to have no color in his eyes, just white voids betwixt the wide-open lids. The sight of him made Joseph uneasy.

Focusing back on the silent priest, he waited for the man to finish his washing. Carefully inspecting each fingernail, the priest finally wiped his thin, pale hands on a richly embroidered linen cloth. Clasping his hands together, the priest turned his head slowly and fixed his eyes on Joseph. Joseph matched his gaze evenly; the priest smiled, his eyes narrowing.

“Joseph of Rishown,” the priest said, his voice penetrating the silence. “The servants tell me you are a lunatic peasant.” Joseph did not answer him, but gave a single nod. The priest held up his thin hand, beckoning the prisoner to follow him. “I am Bishop G’azal. I give all our new workers a tour of our home. It is my privilege to do so. I’ll show you to your place.” G’azal walked past the swaying, gray man on the floor, toward the far archway. “Come, Joseph,” he said, reassuringly, beckoning again.

Stepping forward, Joseph kept one eye on the sitting figure by the attar. As he passed by the mumbling man, the figure swayed harder, saying:

“Joseph! Rishown! Joseph!” The figure’s voice sounded throttled, as if he were in agony. He resumed his mumblings as Joseph walked away, towards the priest.

G’azal’s hand stretched out, as if to guide him. Joseph stood next to the bishop, looking down at the shorter man with a fearless gaze.

“Are you here to bless me, Priest?” Joseph asked. “If so, then do so. If not, lead me to the Magistrate where I may plead on my own behalf, according to the King’s law.” G’azal tilted his head slightly to one side.

“Of which law do you speak?” he asked, still smiling. Joseph scrutinized the priest evenly.

“Here is one law: ye shall have no other gods before Me...” he said, firmly.

At this, the painted chanter on the floor some feet away screeched and howled; it seemed like howls filled the cavern like an entire pack of wolves was present.

“Silence!” the priest ordered, holding up one hand. The howling stopped immediately.

G’azal turned to Joseph, no longer smiling.

“You have upset my friend,” he admonished softly. “We do not make judgments here, Joseph of Rishown. Come with me.” The priest walked towards the far archway and stepped through, robes lifted carefully off the floor. Following after him, Joseph entered a short passage. The noise and voices grew louder as he approached a huge double-door cut into the rock, shaped at a sharp incline to a point at their top.

Beyond the doors lay a vast cavern, far greater than any Joseph had ever witnessed. The ceiling disappeared into thick darkness overhead; Joseph could not tell how high the cavern went. In the midst of the open space stood an enormous, wood-structure,likened to a building without walls. Blazing torches lit up its massive sides and levels, each with their own flurry of activity. Dozens of ramps allowed hundreds of workers to move barrels and wheeled boxes up and own the different levels. On the ‘floor’ of the cave--both under and around the structure--sat forges... dozens of them. At each, smiths could be seen, pumping bellows or hammering. On one side a few made weapons, but most fed fires under large smelting cauldrons. Sparks flew out in clouds at each pump of the many bellows, lighting the rock sides of the cavern with flashes of light.

“Here, everyone has a place,” G’azal said, above the noise. As he strolled, he spread out one hand toward the structure. “We take in the criminally inclined and teach the simple, spiritual pleasures of work.” Joseph walked warily alongside G’azal. He noted several armed men in positions around the structure-all dressed in the crimson uniform of priestly guards; a few of these watched him keenly, but most kept an eye on the workers, stepping in now and then to hurry things along.

Near one corner of the structure the bishop moved past a thin worker. The man took ore from within an open wine barrel on the ground, and placed it--piece by piece--into a wheeled cart. The sight of his skinny arms and sunken eyes made a wave of anger wash over Joseph. Briefly, the man’s eyes met his. Misery, itself, seemed to look out of his gaze. Pointing to the man Joseph halted his steps.

“You say there is no judgment here, priest,” he said. “Yet, this man is starving.”

Bishop G’azal looked sideways at Joseph, not acknowledging the prisoner at all.

“Some do not accept our ways,” he said, simply. “To thrive here, you must.” With one hand, he beckoned to some one on the other side of the structure.

After a minute or so, a servant--robed in crimson linen and fine sandals--approached the bishop. He bore a gold platter, loosely covered by a silken cloth.

“My lord... your supper,” the servant said. He knelt reverently upon the ground, holding the platter up high. The Bishop took away the cloth, revealing a bit of steaming, pale meat in some kind of brown sauce. A few curling, green leaves decorated the dish. Taking up a small golden knife, G’azal sliced off a piece of the meat and chewed it meditatively. Smiling, he looked at Joseph.

“Please have some,” he offered. “You’ll find nothing finer, I’m sure.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Joseph caught the figure of the thin prisoner, working behind the priest. The man stood from his work, his hollow eyes fixed on him. Very slightly, the worker shook his head; the miserable gaze took on a tinge of horror. Looking at the plate again Joseph took a step backward, fighting the urge to gag.

G’azal chewed slowly, studying the new prisoner’s expression with interest.

“Some aspire to rise to the top of this great building,” he remarked, gesturing towards the structure. “They want the fresher air of life and the sweet reward of work. Others, however,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the thin worker, “... are satisfied with pig’s gruel. You have that same choice before you. The choice of what to make of yourself, here, with us.”

He waved the plate away and began walking forward again. “Now, about your resting place... follow me.” Moving around the structure and skirting the forges, G’azal led Joseph to the other side of the huge cavern. The weazoned worker looked after them for a moment before resuming his work.

The bishop threaded his way easily around the cavern, to a small door in the rock wall. Another servant opened the door and G’azal stepped through into a long, narrow passageway with a low-slung ceiling. Stepping through the door after the priest, Joseph was obliged to hunch over a little, in order walk freely in the passage. The passage appeared to have been recently cut, and with some haste; the rough-hewn stone of the walls had not yet been smoothed. Stepping over a small stack of planed lumber, Joseph followed the priest past rough-cut doorways; some were fitted with wooden doors, other with stone. Each doorway bore a different symbol over it, cut into the rock and stained with ink.

G’azal stopped in front of the last door, at the very end of the passage.

“Here we are,” he said, slowly turning to look at Joseph. The symbol over this door looked familiar; it was the same Joseph had seen before entering the spiral stair. Calling his servant, G’azal had the young man open the door. Joseph saw the servant hold a cloth up to his nose as he grasped the door handle. Inwardly he prepared himself for whatever lay behind the door, whether beast or torture chamber.

A wave of hideous stench washed over him as the door opened, like the smell of a thousand corpses rotting in the sun. Forcing the bile rising in his throat down again, Joseph dared look through the door. A small ledge could be seen, ending at a cage,suspended by thick chains from the ceiling. Below the cage, the entire room dropped away twenty feet down, into a wide pit of some dark, black liquid. Skeletal remains could be seen, partially sticking out of the liquid, as well as decaying corpses. These were not animals.

Overcome by the sight and smell. Joseph leaned against the passage wall and vomited onto the floor at his feet.

“This is a very sacred place,” the Bishop said, watching Joseph curiously. He seemed unaffected by the room or its contents. “All our new workers are privileged to spend their first night here. But...” He looked back, down the passage. “Before you sleep, there is something else I want you to see.” He beckoned for Joseph to follow him, his face brightening. Wiping his mouth on the back of his arm, Joseph moved after the priest, a growing hatred for this entire underground realm blossoming in his mind. As he stepped forward he ran back over the rooms and caverns, mentally tallying the servants and number of guards he’d seen.

The bishop walked up to one of the stone door, nearer to the entrance of the horrifying passage. Its symbol resembled a crude drawing of a lion, such as child might draw in the dirt. The servant grasped an iron ring in the door and dragged the heavy door open with difficulty. G’azal stepped through the door and ushered Joseph inside. Wide and low, the room held no furnishing nor other doors. Its stone walls were finished, however, and carved out from the rock to form a round room. The smooth floor featured a yawing pit in its center. A long, wooden board--just wide enough to stand upon-- spanned the ominous opening. Two guards stood by the edge of the pit. A prisoner stood on the board, a rope tied about his waist; the rope went up through a metal hook embedded in the ceiling, the other end held by one of the guards.

Suddenly, a deep roar reverberated through the room, joined by another. Eyes wide, Joseph realized the pit was home to great and ferocious beasts, the like of which had not been seen in the kingdom for generations. In his mind’s eyes he saw himself, sitting by his father’s chair on cold winter’s nights as a young lad, listening to tales of the Black Bane, the fearsome lion-like beasts that had once roamed their island. Outlying villages lived in constant fear of the creatures that preyed upon livestock and folk alike. The king’s great-grandfather had led great warriors to slay the beasts over many months, to ensure the safety of his people. Despite his best tactics, traps and maneuvers, many of his best knights were killed in the endeavor, but the bane was defeated. The monarch slew the last of hem, himself, taking as part of his royal crest the roaring black lion, lest the nation forget the blood spilled or their safety. Neither lion, nor wolf the beast were thought of as unnatural and bloodthirsty.

“Black bane...” Joseph said, to himself.

The priest heard his words and turned towards his new prisoner with narrowed eyes.

“An ugly name,” G’azal sneered. “Myths propagated by ignorant peasants. These glorious creatures were nearly hunted to extinction by the short-sighted nobles of our land, just so farmers and lumbermen could breed a little faster.” He stepped closer to the pit, good humor overtaking his face once more. “I found this pair of fine animals in the Easterly land of Weymin. They were show-creatures, baited and caged, but one day I will set them free again.”