The Willbreaker (Book 1) (15 page)

              The caravan stopped at the bottom of the spiraling passage on a flattened area, which designated the stationing of bone wagons and storage of the giant badgers. From here, Brandon saw supply crates stacked up against the rock walls, the insignia of Lord Reinhold showing on their front sides. Off to the right, two more enormous cave entrances opened into pitch darkness; reeking of pungent animal musk. A handful of human boys ran up. They were dirty, and judging by their skeletal figures, not well fed. Brandon and the others in the cage watched as the boys took the reins of the badgers and unhooked them from the wagon harnesses.

              To the left and front of them, the cavern opened up into the Bauth’Dok city. The ceiling of the cavern went eighty or ninety feet high and unnerving yellow and red stalactites dotted its length. Large glowing bonfires lit on the ground made a lake of shadows throughout the cave, making the stalactites seem as if they had grown from a lake of black water, only upside down. Buildings dotted the large expanse of ground as far as Brandon could see. The area bustled and moved. There were Bauth’Dok everywhere, moving around with a purpose unknown to any but themselves. 

Brandon glanced around, and noticed that all the Bauth’Dok looked the same, and there did not appear to be any females. He wondered if there were any females at all, or if the males and females all looked the same.
Odd.

              Brandon’s shirt soaked with sweat from the hot humidity of the cave, and his head glistened with the beads of heat. Before he could look around anymore, a human man approached the back of their bone cage. The man, very large and muscled, wore tight leather boots and a skimpy loincloth. Around his neck, a small black chain connected to a marble-sized, red glowing rock that lay in the center of his chest. Patches of blackened ash covered his powerful body and face. As he unhooked the latch that locked the bone wagon, Brandon noticed that his hair, even his eyebrows and eyelashes, was completely white. Flinging open the cage door, he withdrew the heavy spiked mace that lay tethered to his waist.

              “Get out!” he hollered in a deep, raspy voice.

              Brandon sat closest to the gate, and looked back at Galadin with fear as the taskmaster waited. Fear overtook him. Even when he and Edward engaged the Blade Maidens outside of his home town, he seemed to have more courage than he did now.

              The taskmaster’s large hand wrapped around the back of Brandon’s neck and tossed him to the hard stone floor. Brandon hit the ground with a thud.

              “Out! Now!” the man screamed. Galadin jumped down and helped Brandon to his feet, receiving a glare from the large, white-haired man. Brandon had always been robust; larger than most of the working men back in Greylin, but the white haired man in front of him stood a full hand taller and twice as thick. Galadin looked like a skinny child next to him.

              As the men unloaded themselves from their cage, their instructor pushed Brandon’s shoulder hard towards the wall.

              “Over to the wall, and don’t make me repeat myself!" His hateful eyes spared no one a glare.

              Galadin followed directly behind Brandon. Lining up on the wall in single file, the taskmaster approached and appraised them. He walked in front of them, with his hands clasped behind his back, studying and weighing his captives. His presence intimidated them all.

“My name is Florian, but you will address me as Master. It is in your best interest to understand that everything you knew is now gone. You are dead to the world, and will do as you are told.  You are nothing but slaves now. You are no longer husbands, brothers, or sons. You are no longer soldiers, blacksmiths, or carpenters. You now have only one purpose, to serve. If you do as you are told, we will spare your life. If you attempt to escape or evade your duties, we will test your will as a human being, and I promise you, you will regret your decision. Now, dump your weapons and armor in a pile behind you.”

The men did not have time to exchange looks.

              “Now!” he yelled as he lifted one of the soldiers off his feet by the neck. Austin choked with hopeless terror and he gripped Florian’s wrist, struggling to get free. Two of the other soldiers moved towards him, but before they could advance, Florian slammed Austin hard to the ground. Austin held his neck in pain, coughing and gasping for air. Florian’s head whipped around to the two soldiers, who tried unsuccessfully to blend in with the other captives. His deadly eyes locked on the men as he marched fiercely over to them.

              “What were you planning on doing, maggot?" His nose touched Bo’s nose, and he sprayed hot spit across his face. Bo tried pulling his head back slightly.

              “Were you going to help him? He is nothing! Helping someone else while they are getting disciplined will only get you his fate!”

              While the taskmaster yelled, revengeful hatred ripped across Austin’s face. He withdrew his long sword, jumping to his feet, and dashed towards Florian. Before anyone could stop him, Florian twisted his hips, putting his body in motion, and arced his mace single handedly over his shoulder towards Austin. His lightning quick speed brought the wicked spiked mace down on the top of Austin’s head, exploding it like a ripe pumpkin from the unbelievable force of the blow. Brains, blood, and bone exploded from Austin’s neck, spraying the line of soldiers with human matter. Austin’s sword flew out of his hand halfway to full swing as his broken body collapsed to the ground. Florian’s bloody face turned to the rest of the captives. Insane power pulsed in his eyes.

              “Any more takers? Anyone else want to try and kill me? Now take off your weapons and armor! Now! I won’t ask you again!”

              The men got to work as if a fire had been started beneath them.

              After Brandon and the other remaining soldiers dumped their weapons and armor into a pile behind them, Florian led them into the Bauth’Dok city. Brandon did not remove his leather skullcap, which he pulled down to the tops of his eyebrows. From the wagon area, a small wooden ramp dropped them down into the walkways. Stalagmites and rounded rock formations, the same yellow and red as the ceiling and walls, determined the walking paths. Bauth’Dok moved like ants within the city. As they walked down the path, Brandon watched an odd-walking Bauth’Dok coming towards them.

Florian quickly dropped to a knee and bowed his head low. The captives, including Brandon, stood there, awkwardly watching the creature and Florian. After the Bauth’Dok ran its eyeless gaze over them and hissed, it turned into the city. The second he left their sight, Florian stood up in a rage. He twisted around, crushing the back of his hand right into Garvin’s head, knocking him backwards as he flew into the rest of the soldiers. Florian swore through gritted teeth how he should be thankful for his leniency this time because he would not be so next time. From that point on, they dropped to a knee anytime they neared a Bauth’Dok. Florian said it showed respect to those far superior; Brandon wondered what Florian got out of helping them.

              As they skirted around the main walkways, another human man, dressed in similar fashion to Florian, lead twelve men through the city, down from where they were. He had a wooden paddle tethered to his waist, and around his neck a black chain that held a marble-sized, red-glowing rock. The paddle had a long rounded handle that could easily spare room for two hands, flattening out like a boat oar past the handle three feet. Finger-sized holes were drilled throughout the blade of the paddle in chaotic order. Black soot covered the men that followed him, and each wore a mining pick across his back. Their clothes were soaked in sweat. Heads slumping, they dragged their feet as they walked. Their eyes looked blankly at the ground, drained of all energy and dull with despair.
That is going to be just like us; worked until we can’t work anymore.

              Brandon moved his eyes again, watching the boots of the soldier in front of him, when all of a sudden he jerked his head back to the other slave driver. The slave driver happened to glance over his shoulder, catching Brandon’s eye, and bared his crooked teeth through an evil grin before turning back to his way. Brandon’s mouth opened in confusion. He watched him momentarily, hoping he would turn around again, hoping he could verify one more time what he already knew he saw. A brain-jarring smash blasted Brandon’s temple. The world spun as his ears shot out a deafening ring and the ground beneath him slipped from under his feet. His shoulder cracked down into a thick stalagmite, stopping his momentum dead. Two powerful hands wrapped around the shirt at his chest and lifted him to his feet. Brandon looked hazily into Florian’s angry face. Air burst from his lungs as Florian rammed his fist into Brandon’s belly. Brandon curled over gasping for air, when Florian’s rocky knuckles met the side of his face with a solid hit. Vertigo flooded his senses. He crashed once again to the solid and unforgiving floor. Florian picked him up with his left hand, and reared his right fist back, winding up for another punch. Brandon realized this had to stop, or he would be really hurt. Although smaller than Florian, he would not let him beat on him without fighting back. His head cleared instantly in a rush of coolness. Florian thrust his shoulder into the swing, giving it all his might. His hand flew through the air with unreal power, right into Brandon’s open hand with a loud “thwap." As it hit, Brandon clenched his fingers around Florian’s fist as hard as possible. Brandon’s teeth bared in a menacing snarl.

              “Do it Florian. I dare you." The words came like death from his lips. Rage burned in his eyes. Blood ran from the side of his eye where Florian had hit him. Brandon would not take anymore, and for the briefest of seconds, uneasiness flashed across Florian’s face, then a meager smile broke his lips as he stepped back.

              “Heh,” he said, rolling his shoulders with a little annoying chuckle. “I don’t want to hurt you too bad, maggot. You got work to do for me. And you’ll get yours, I promise you. You’ll get yours." He stared apprehensively into Brandon’s cold blue eyes. Florian turned back to the path and started walking.

              “C’mon you worthless mules, we have work to get to." Florian lead them onward again. None of the men had noticed anything but rock solid demeanor from Florian, before now. A quick sidelong glance from Galadin told Brandon that he caught the look as well. Brandon watched the back of Florian’s head as he walked and then slowly followed him again. His eye ached. Brandon’s thoughts raced back to the other slave driver. His hair, eyebrows and everything were snow white, just like Florian’s. Could it be a way that the Bauth’Dok marked their minions? Could the trexalite radiation be causing it? Although he did not know why, Brandon did not think so.

              The path lead them away from the major part of the city. They followed the vertical wall down into a processing area of some kind. The area was relatively flat, and filled with activity. Three pools of liquid lay in the center of the area. The first pool, and largest, had inky black water in it. One of the Bauth’Dok stood at the edge of the water holding a trexalite tipped staff.

Brandon watched as human men, covered from hair to boot with black soot and sweat, push obviously heavy wooden pushcarts from down past the pools. Each man had a thick handled, double sided mining pick strapped somewhere on their body; the large bellied man in the front of the line had his tethered to his hip and the guy right behind him had his strapped to his back. Each cart massed with large head-sized or better chunks of porous, black rock material. Brandon caught the glint of something red and shiny flashing from the rocky material, but before he could think about it, it disappeared. It was very small, and he wondered if it was trexalite.

Alongside the filthy and overworked men, another slave driver watched carefully. He stood smacking a paddle in his hand, barking at the miners to move faster. Brandon stared at him hard in puzzlement as he followed Florian. The man looked to be in his forties and could have only weighed a hundred pounds. His eyes sunk deep in his eye sockets. A boney nose stuck sharp and protruding from the center of his face, and his lips were so small and thin that they hardly covered his yellow crooked teeth. His eyebrows were bushy, and his hair, although very thin on the top, was wild and unclean.

              “Galadin!” Brandon urgently whispered. His eyes darted to see if Florian watched them, but he walked up ahead of them, paying them no heed. Galadin walked in front of Brandon.

              “Galadin!” he called again, this time a little louder.

              Galadin carefully turned his head back to him, still keeping Florian in his sight.

              “What is it, lad?" He kept his voice as low as possible.

              “Did you happen to notice all the slave drivers?”

              “Yeah, What about them?”

              “Didn’t you notice anything strange about them? All of their hair, eyebrows and everything, it’s white! Don’t you find that a little odd?”

              Brandon’s statement perplexed Galadin. It showed in his face. His eyes eased of concern.

              “It’s from the radiation, the trexalite.”

              Before Brandon could respond, their slave driver turned around. “Shut up back there. I didn’t say you could talk!”

As men arrived with their loaded carts, they pushed them up to the edge of the first pool and tipped the cart upward, dumping the large, black clumps of rock into the water. The rocks plunged underneath the top of the water, out of sight. After they dumped the carts, the Bauth’Dok dipped the staff’s tip under the water’s surface. Boiling pockets of air went wild from within the pool. Flashes of red exploded beneath the surface, as the hissing of air rang through the cave. After a few seconds, it ended. The eyeless creature raised the tip of his staff, as if pointing it to something in the water. At the end of the trexalite tip, small clumps of smooth dull rock hung together in midair, moving fluidly in conjunction with the staff’s movement. He moved the staff’s tip over to the second and much smaller pool of water. White sand lined the floor of this pool. A small pile of slightly red rocks sat in the bottom of the small pool. The water seemed artificial; as clear as any Brandon had ever seen. The creature submerged the clumps of brown rock into the center of this pool. Entering the water, they frothed and foamed as if immersed in acid. The Bauth’Dok withdrew the staff, leaving the bubbling rocks sitting in the bottom of the pool, mixed in with the dull red rocks already there. He went back to the inky water and started over.

              The third pool of water was about two feet deep. It looked like a large dimple in the hard, rocky floor that had filled with water. Suspended above it, from a fine black chain, a diamond-shaped piece of trexalite swayed in the air. The chain connected to the ceiling, holding the glowing piece of metal three feet from the water’s surface. The third pool appeared to be empty.

              Florian led them past the pools and down to another flat area, yelling at those who were too busy watching the pool area to walk quickly. Rows of carts lined the wall, just like those the other men used to move the rocks.

              “Grab yourself a cart, girls. One each, no sharing!” he yelled, chucking to himself. The carts were heavy and awkward to push. They were made with three-inch thick planks of unknotted hickory and held together with steel capping and nails as thick as a man’s finger. The wheels connected to the bottom of the wagon via the solid metal axle that ran through a hole drilled into the bottom of the cart. After each man had a cart, Florian yelled at them to start heading down to “the cave." The smooth pathway curved left as it cascaded downward.

As they got further away from the processing pools, the air felt cooler and the large fires that lit the city dropped out of sight. Darkness held on tight to the ceiling and walls and the chill in the air bit at the uncovered parts of Brandon’s body. The others felt the chill as well as they pulled their shirts closed and move their neck collars up farther around their necks. The cave opened up ahead, sloping downward, like a giant open throat into pitch-blackness. At the base of the cave, small and dirty canvas tents stood unmoving at the entrance to the mine. Open crates laid around the tents, their lids scattered around the ground. Two Bauth’Dok guards held large blackened war hammers over their shoulders, moving their eyeless faces in all directions.

              Steady streams of men pushed their carts, one behind another, out of the cave entrance, and up towards the processing pools. Each looked at the point of breaking; dragging their feet and soaked in sweat, but they pushed on with fierce resolve. No need to wonder what would happen to them if they did not.

              “All right pukes, this is where your fun begins!” Florian chuckled at them with mocking amusement. Brandon hated that chuckle. “Grab a mining pick from one of those crates!" He laughed a hearty chuckle, which made his belly wiggle up and down.

              Obviously, finding a way out would be next to impossible. The only way out seemed to be the way that they came in, and the magic disappearing wall blocked that way. The captives left their carts idle as they went to the crates, afraid of what punishment delay would get them, and looked inside. Double-sided mining picks lined the inside of the crate atop a layer of hay. Galadin grabbed one first, followed by the rest of his men. Brandon waited patiently with his arms crossed, glaring at Florian while everyone else was crowded around the wooden box.

              “You’re up, sweetheart,” Florian chuckled as he glared back to Brandon. Brandon postponed a second, then reluctantly inched to the crate, giving Florian one more defiant glare before reaching inside and grabbing a pick. Florian unhooked a wooden paddle from a peg that hung on the wall, just like the one they saw earlier on the other slave driver. The rock wall had a line of these paddles hanging from it.

              Florian smacked the end of the paddle in his open palm. “Take your picks and then grab your carts. It’s down to the mines with you!" The men hesitantly obeyed.

              Entering the throat of the cave, their carts fell into the wheel ruts that were worn into the rock. Small, rusted tripods held braziers that glowed evilly along the travel way. The cave entrance stood a hundred feet all, and the neck of the cave only seemed to get larger. As they lead their carts into the mine, another group of miners came into view, pushing their loaded carts towards the top. One of the miners, walking in front of the line, had no cart, but instead carried another man over his shoulder. The man being carried had no meat on his bones; his skin sucked to his body tight, making his ribs and all the bones in his shoulders protrude underneath like fingers pushing against a bed sheet. Blood soaked his ripped and soiled clothes. His eyes stared at the ground lifelessly.

              “Faster! Move!” yelled their master. He too, Brandon noticed, had snow-white hair.
If it were the trexalite, then wouldn’t all the miners have white hair too?
Brandon looked back at the ground as he heaved his cart farther into the cold, dank mine.

Their descent ended shortly past the entrance. The mine tunnel flattened into a central station. Four deep braziers, filling the unventilated room with the smell of burning pitch, dimly lit the large area. From here, the arms of the mine tunneled out in all directions. Each tunnel entrance had a number scratched into the rock beside it.
Eighteen tunnels.
The clanging of mine picks and the crunching of rocks beneath them echoed from the mine tunnels throughout this room. Two dead miners lay broken atop each other against the wall. Judging by the look of their bodies and the pool of fluid gathered beneath them, Brandon guessed they could not have died more than a day or two ago.