CHAPTER 15, PART 1
THE ONSET OF COLD SWEAT
Caleb watched the bastard of a Morgan strut out of the room. Silence fell over the hall as he thought over what had just happened. Nobody could read his Aura, but everyone present had enough sense to keep their mouths shut.
He wondered again why only the Morgans had responded to his probes for a buyer. The Morgans never bought slaves, and were generally hostile to the entire Merchant Class. Astor was possibly their most powerful field agent, normally reserved for when House Morgan needed to demonstrate overwhelming force. Sending him here for a simple transaction was like riding a fully armoured Battle Horse into the grocer’s stall to buy an apple.
Caleb shook his head, he didn't know what their stake in this was, but the longer the Morgans were involved in his business the more dangerous the situation would become. Last night Caleb had felt the Steel Seed he had buried into that strange young man leave the Arach Cave. He had already started planning an expedition to retrieve him, but now he couldn't afford to wait.
First, he needed to reassert control of the situation here. This Morgan had meant to undermine his authority, but had underestimated how deep the roots of his control penetrated. Caleb invested great care into his enterprise, and had long ago pruned anyone who he could not find reliable leverage against.
Caleb considered his mercenaries first. They were not disturbed in the slightest. Contrary to popular opinion, Caleb had found mercenaries to be very honest. You could always count on them to be true to their own interests. If their employer made certain that it was in their interests to keep faith, faith would be kept. Caleb was hated by many and loved by none. If he ever lost the ability to pay his mercenaries he would be dead within the week.
The mercenaries understood this well, and so trusted that he would always find a way to pay them. Even if the Morgans offered more gold, they would not take it. Good will between the Lords of Great Houses and mercenaries never lasted. It was not uncommon for mercenaries, once the need for them had passed, to be arrested as 'bandits’ instead of being paid their due. Caleb paid them well, and like clockwork. A position in his guard was coveted by most mercs in the north. They would defend him fiercely and cared very little for the conniving of a House Morgan Lordling.
Everyone in the room had been watching Caleb to see how he would react after the Morgan had left. A simple directing of his gaze was enough to get the attention of Neb, the mercenary captain. He was a recent addition to Caleb’s band, but had quickly won the respect of the other mercs by always volunteering for the vanguard in any mission. Many of them had been saved from dangerous situations by Neb putting himself in an even more dangerous situation.
Neb stepped forward and thumped a fist on his chest, the relic lights gleaming off his bald head. Neb was a local peasant name, but that was unmistakably a Skraeling salute. Coupled with his slightly awkward accent, it was a clear giveaway of the merc’s foreign origin. Caleb marked that information for later, it could prove a useful handle against him. The war had not been so long ago, a Skraeling merc was a handy scapegoat when bad blood still boiled amongst the countless families who had lost brothers, sons and fathers.
“We set out today Neb. You remember the plans we made? Get everything ready now and I'll meet you out front in an hour.”
The mercs turned and left the hall, chatting amongst themselves, clearly happy to have their orders and be on their way.
The hall fell silent again. Gradually the silence took on a heavy quality, like the calm before a storm. Caleb let the anticipation build into tension, then watched with secret satisfaction as fear began to worm its way into the Auras of everyone in the room. It came slowly at first, but the fear found easy pathways in the souls Caleb had gathered around him. It was a trained response that he had taken the time to cultivate in each of them.
Soon the infection had spread between the clustered Auras. Psychological wounds that he had etched into their souls began to bleed afresh whenever they felt his wrath was near. All thoughts of House Morgan vanished before the onset of cold sweat. Before any grovelling could start, Caleb spoke in a kind voice.
“Po, I saw that your digging unit finished excavating structure eight, ahead of schedule no less. Well done, step forward.”
Po, along with the rest of the room, simply stood stunned for a moment. Caleb waited patiently, watching their Auras as they processed his unexpected tone. He knew full well the effect he was having. This subversion of expectations was pulling and pushing on their emotional cores, leaving them unbalanced and pliable. On a deep and instinctive level they were made weak and soft as he demonstrated their powerlessness, even over their own emotional state. Being unable to read Caleb’s Aura, or predict his behaviour, left them no way to predict (and thus avoid) his ill will. This left their fearful and uncertain souls no recourse but grovelling servility to spare themselves from his cruelty.
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Po rushed forward with a jerk, suddenly realising his master was waiting on him. He stopped in the centre of the room and bowed. Po was a slave that Caleb had owned for many years. He was a man brought so low that even his hatred of Caleb had faded away. By this point he had actually convinced himself that he deserved any malice that Caleb wished to inflict on him. Caleb was generally kind to him however, finding that the contrast was useful to demonstrate the benefits of servitude.
“Yes Po, you have done well. You may take any of the Wives with you and rest for the afternoon. If you do so well again with site nine I will have a greater reward for you.”
As Caleb spoke, the Aura of one of the girls in the corner flashed with revulsion. The reaction in her Aura told Caleb that she knew she would be the one chosen. A lecherous grin spread over Po’s face as he looked over at them. Po was apparently developing a taste for one girl in particular. What Po was doing to her Caleb did not know, but the defiance in her Aura was unacceptable. He made a mental note to spend some time with her himself to make sure she understood her position. Eye contact with Caleb was enough to bring the girl to heel as Po shuffled over. She cast her eyes down immediately and let Po lead her out of the room.
Occasionally they came across an attractive young woman in their slave raids. If they were ripe enough Caleb would offer them a way out of the hard labour and the oppressive drain of the great Relic. They would usually be willing to accept anything after a couple days digging. These were the only women Caleb allowed on camp. The human sex drive was a powerful force that could not easily be ignored. It was able to overpower rational senses in most men, given enough time. Making himself the arbiter of the only source of satisfaction was a powerful tool. Caleb invested a little to buy them court dresses and makeup, and allowed them to move freely about the camp. Everyone understood that the Wives were his, and that it was by his discretion alone that they may be touched.
With Po gone, Caleb dismissed everyone else back to their duties. The Relic Priest was fidgeting beside him, obviously waiting for an opportunity to speak.
“Yes, Priest?”
“Caleb..,’ He began, seeming distracted and unfocused.
“You said.. You said you’d have more power crystals. And.. and, Relic parts, like the ones I drew a picture of.”
Caleb turned to consider the Priest. He was thin and balding. The iconic Relic Priest robes were worn and faded, presumably the only clothes he owned. He had proven to be a vexing enigma ever since his arrival a few months back, talking about wanting to index the ruins for Church records. One day he would be a doddering lunatic who was incapable of making eye contact but would steal a honey cake from right underneath a mercenary's nose. Caleb had needed to put himself bodily between them as the merc loaded a crossbow and the Priest skipped away giggling. The next day he would stand perfectly still for hours on end, back straight and arms crossed, pinning anyone who approached with an unyielding steely gaze. Caleb hated both versions equally, but the Priest had been willing to negotiate for access to the Relic. In the short time since the Priest had demonstrated that the Relics they unearthed sometimes still functioned, they had made more gold than the previous three years combined.
“P.. power crystals, yes, I need them.” The Priest was looking not at Caleb but at the frayed sleeve of his robe, pulling at loose strands intently as if the cloth was the real topic of conversation. He was in the ‘no eye contact’ mode today, seeming as if something else always occupied his attention.
“Well what have you got for me, Priest? Power crystals are expensive, and finding those parts was too. It’s been a while since you got the field working, I hope whatever you have been doing down there hasn't been a waste of time.”
“Oh I found something, yess. Something you will like..”
“Well, let's have a look I suppose,” Caleb said, standing up suddenly.
The sudden movement seemed to startle the priest, but he quickly recovered and hurried off the dais. Caleb took his time to follow. That seemed to agitate the priest as they made their way towards the back of the room. An opening cut into the stone floor revealed itself as they got close, it was hard to see at eye level from anywhere else in the room.
Caleb hesitated a moment, gazing down a staircase that descended deep into the earth. The entire length of the staircase was visible from the top, stretching down at a perfect 90 degree angle like a great box shaped tube. Bright white lights lit the stone at regular intervals. The impossibly symmetrical cut of the rock, and lack of any shadows, created a strange optical illusion. Caleb knew the staircase descended for more than a thousand feet, but with no shadows to show depth it looked like it was painted on the floor.
As they descended, a small dark square in the centre of their view (that was the bottom of the starecase) grew at an imperceptible rate. It gave the disturbing impression that they might be trapped in a loop, as if a new stair was added to the bottom for each one they stepped past. Caleb found looking directly down the centre of the staircase disorienting, so he watched his feet as they walked. Their echoing steps fell into a rhythm, as if anything so organic as an unselfconscious footfall could not exist in such an unnaturally symmetrical environment. The Priest lost his nervous countenance as they went deeper. He seemed to grow taller and more confident as they left Caleb’s world behind, and descended into his.