15. Time to Mine

“Mass excavations have been undertaken to shape chambers for dozens, if not hundreds, of spawning pools. It is time to for me to clarify the true nature of the acrid liquid in which we grow and to put to rest myths and theories of how to influence the growth of the birthing sacks which we lay at the bottom of each pool.

Perhaps by vast experimentation I might better understand my own genetics. And, failing that, perhaps I might birth a shaman with the requisite intellect to succeed where I have failed. All this in a quest for death. While all those around me strive for a few more meager cycles of the desolate Moon which hangs lofty and aloof above us all.

The Small King was not only supportive, but almost excited. His grand ambitions for a lasting Grorginite Empire might one day be reached if we can reliably birth goblins with minds that steer towards contemplation rather than impulsive violence.”

Hjorvarth woke to being shook, but was almost sure that it was still the night. He grumbled disagreeably for only a moment before he remembered where he had slept.

The shadowed face a young man smirked down. “I thought you weren’t tired.”

“Everybody up!” another man bellowed, echoing across the domed cavern. “In a line! Away from the gates!” Metal rang out as if made by striking a pot or pan. “Everybody up! A fresh day awaits, full of hope for all the men and women that aren’t inside this cage… and for all you, well, animals love nothing more than scratching at the earth.”

“Come on,” Dan urged. “They’ll beat you half to death if you aren’t in the line… which would fully kill you.”

Hjorvarth tried to laugh, but the sound was dry and stifled. He struggled up from the floor, nearly stumbling forward, then managed to straighten into a drunken stride.

Slowing to a stop, he took some breaths to steady himself. Ahead of him, two untidy lines of rag-clad men had gathered at either side of the gate, which now lay much darker, torches beyond obscured by the shadows of men on the other side.

Grunting sounded out now a bar was lifted, then the wooden gates groaned outward.

Five men wearing skullcaps and leather armour waited on the other side. Four gripped their own cudgels while the fifth man had a tight hold on a four-headed whip.

Hjorvarth and Dan had only just managed to reach the end of each lines. They both met eyes as if still unused to the other’s presence.

“What happened to you?” the lead guard demanded of the wounded men.

“The big prisoner attacked us.” The old man, standing near the front of Hjorvath’s line, bared his toothless grin. “All of it without provocation. Tried to ask him to stop, but, well… you seen how much that helped.”

“And where is this ‘big prisoner?’”

The old man craned his neck to the end of the line. “Back there, master Valdi.”

Valdi turned briskly, then snapped his wrist back so that the whip heads sliced into the old man’s cheek. “That’s for stepping out of line.” He struck again, tearing into the hand that the man had held up in defense. “For raising your hand.” The old man whined, but brought his hand down. “That’s better, prisoner. Learn your place, and we’ll all be happier for it… won’t we?”

“Yes, master,” each of the prisoner’s echoed in a clumsy unison.

“Have we got a mute back here?” Valdi asked, stalking forwards. He came to stand before the huge prisoner. “Well, then. Looks like you really are the ‘big prisoner’, aren’t you?” He waited, eyes narrowing. “Are you deaf, you big oaf?”

Two guards with cudgels came to stand beside their whip-wielding leader.

Hjorvarth took a slow breath. “I suppose I am.” The whip struck him with a cruel snap, barbs tearing through his nipple. “To what end do you seek—” He suffered another strike, and smiled. “To torture—” Hjorvarth struck the man in the head.

Valdi tottered, then collapsed. The two guards near him gripped their weapons, trading wary glances. The pair near the gate rushed to join their peers.

“I am warning you,” Hjorvarth declared, “step closer and I will happily do to you as I did to him. I struck this man because he meant to harm me for no reason I could see. Because he seems to have taken it upon himself to cause suffering to those who have already been forced to suffer.”

“On your knees, prisoners,” a tall guard warned. “Get on your knees, and we can talk this over. But this isn’t a place where we negotiate on threats.”

Hjorvarth scowled at the shadowed faces of the guards, at the prisoners watching in the half-lit cavern. “I am of no mind to discuss it further, or in any mood to stay here any longer than I already have. Stay out of my way, or I will put you down and leave you to whatever fate awaits you in the care of your charges.”

The tall man stepped forward, bringing down his cudgel.

Hjorvarth caught him by the wrist. He punched the man’s gut, letting him drop to the floor. “Time to go, Dan.”

He waved the man towards the open gate, which two guards were now hurriedly trying to close. Each half came together with a wooden rattle. He kicked one side open before they barred it, sending a guard onto his back.

The man closest struck the huge prisoner across the thigh, then staggered when he was punched answered.

“Dan!” Hjorvarth glanced back at the young man, who stood frozen at the precipice of the gate. “This has already begun, and you are already a part of this. As are all the men with you. If you stay here you will be bloodied and beaten for the things that I have done. If I have to, I will walk back, strike you down, and carry you.”

Dan stepped forward, breaking into a run now the guards started to recover.

An excited roar went out and a dozen prisoners followed after them.

The eight that remained, bar one old man who had sat down in the hopes that he wouldn’t be associated with those standing, decided they would be too exposed and reluctantly followed after the rest of the law breakers as well.

“This is absolute madness, Hjorvarth,” Dan shouted, struggling to keep up with him.

Hjorvarth held up a stolen lantern as they came to a crossroads. He turned to the young man. “Which way?”

Dan waved his hand to the tunnel opposite the one they had come from. “That one, but we should go to the storehouse in the compound and find some supplies. Or, closer to hand, the cavern where we eat is this way.”

Hjorvarth considered the decision while the old man ran past, leading half a dozen men towards the exit. He strode into the tunnel that led to where the men ate.

Dan followed in the wake of the man’s huge shadow. “You could have warned me that you’re plan was going to be so… graceless,” he complained. “Didn’t you at least want to have a look at the tunnels first?”

“No need.” Hjorvarth’s eyes glittered with lantern light. “I trust your judgement.”

***

“Still trust my judgement?” Dan asked.

They had searched the expansive cavern, finding it full of all furnishings and possessions needed for serving food, but nothing to actually eat.

Hjorvarth led the way back through the winding tunnel. “The decision has no less merit because it proved useless.”

Dan frowned. “So… no?”

“I had meant that as a yes.” Hjorvarth slowed to a stop at the crossroads. “I’ve no talent for memory. Which way?”

“Left.”

Hjorvarth nodded, turning into a wood-braced tunnel that widened and narrowed and widened again while they followed it. Dust and dirt blanketed the air, and both man had begun to take heavy breaths. They both slowed when they heard voices.

The way ahead opened to a wide man made cavern that offered access to three more tunnels.

A dozen grey-liveried men stood beside two narrow half-laden carts, conferring with the guards that had taken beatings. The plump man was in attendance, red-faced, his fine black jacket at ends with mundane surroundings. They had taken most interest in the tunnel on the left, leaving the approach to the rightmost path unchallenged.

“Of the paths ahead,” Hjorvarth whispered, “which leads to danger?”

“Gods above,” Dan hissed, glimpsing the group ahead. “There’s no way forward. We should run back to Timilir.”

“The way forward is the way forward,” Hjorvarth assured. “Choose a path and I will follow.”

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“Choose a path?” Dan scowled. “Hjorvarth… they will catch us, and kill us, and—”

A deep laugh sounded out from the tunnel behind them, followed by low conversations and the metal rattle of men trudging forward in heavy armour.

“Isn’t that great?” Dan muttered. “Trapped on both sides. You know I spent the past season praying for help… and now I’m very much starting to regret it.”

“Do not hesitate,” Hjorvarth warned. “Brikorhaan willing!”

The guards of the mines and city both startled at the shout. The huge half-naked man shouldered into one of the carts, snapping off a wheel, and sent it tipping over onto a pair of guards. He drove a nearby man to the ground with a heavy punch, and then scooped the broken wheel up off the ground while Dan ran off into the tunnel to the right.

Hjorvarth followed, wheel in one hand and lantern in the other. “Keep running,” he told Dan. “I’ll lead once we reach the next cavern.”

“Did you fools really not check the dining cavern?” came a furious shout.

“Oh gods,” Dan said, breath ragged. “This tunnel is going to be too narrow.”

Hjorvarth frowned, then realised Dan had not meant for himself. Rugged stone pressed in on his huge shoulders, and he had to twist his body side-ways to fit through.

“Can you get through?” Dan asked.

Hjorvarth lifted the lantern over his head, handing it over. “You should keep going, and scout the way ahead. I will get through.” He saw hesitation and fear. “Run! Go!”

Dan offered a doubtful smile, but turned to follow the tunnel ahead.

Left amid growing darkness, Hjorvarth sighed.

He made an awkward effort of side-stepping his way through the tunnel, while the the rattle of armour and angry voices grew closer. Rock pressed into his skin, scraping his flesh, reopening recently closed wounds.

Hjorvarth laughed, having no other answer to his desperation and agony, and thanked the gods that he had lost so much weight in the season past.

He struggled now pressure threatened to break his ribs, or crush his chest, but then the weight slowly loosened and he managed to keep faith in his reasonable pace.

Lantern light bled into the darkness behind him, and he could see the stretching shadows of approaching guardsmen. Hjorvarth had almost come into a stretch wide enough to run through, when the first guard caught up with him. The man wasted no time attacking an unarmed prisoner, and threw his momentum into a sword thrust.

Hjorvarth caught the blade with the broken cart wheel, twisting it upward in an attempt to wrench the sword from grip. Iron cracked and shattered. Hjorvarth stepped forward and grabbed the guard by shoulder and head, driving his helmet into the stone, once, twice, then a third time until he was sure the man would collapse.

A cry went out now more guards approached, hampered by their fallen friend.

Hjorvarth ran forward into the blackness before the pursuers could clear the way. He sighed with pure relief when he saw the lantern light at the end of the tunnel.

Dan startled as the huge man approached. He meekly smiled. “Glad you’re here.”

They both stood on a path that ringed an expansive natural cavern, which housed moist rock formations and two large pools. The pair were blocked by a sheer drop to water ahead, while on the left and right stood several hunched figures who wore hooded cloaks and kept a grip on metal pipes.

“Give!” the cloaked figure behind Dan hissed, brandishing a pipe. “Give!”

“Friends?” Hjorvarth asked, dropping his wheel.

Dan slowly shook his head, water splashing u wood struck water with a hollow splash. “Don’t move. Those are the pipes that shoot fire.”

“Give!” the kobold screeched. “Give!”

“My deepest apologies if this cripples you,” said Hjorvarth, shoving Dan off of the ledge. He jumped after, meaning to land in the other half of the pool. Both men plunged into the ice cold water, thudding into stone below with an impact that jarred bone.

Dan regained his wits first, barely understanding what had happened, wishing he had managed to hold his breath. He had never learned how to swim, but could see the light above him and made a frantic effort of flailing through the water.

Relief flooded him when he broke into the stale air above. He managed to clamber high enough to rest his elbows on the pool’s ledge.

“Stop!” came a screech.

Five hunched kobolds aimed pipes at the young man in the pool. Fur showed in places on their squat frames, but their heads were hidden by thick black cowls. They each had one clawed hand gripped on a small sparking stone.

Hjorvarth broke water with the wheel back in grip.

Gemstones set in the earth illuminated the cavern in many hazy hues of colour.

Hjorvarth glimpsed five hooded creatures overhead threatening to attack, while a dozen more milled about the ground below. Those had turned their attention to a score of burly goblins, who now spilled out of a wide tunnel, charging towards the kobolds.

The five kobolds overhead turned towards the roaring goblins as well, smashing their stones atop their metal pipes. Hjorvarth pulled Dan back under the water’s surface.

Sparks erupted. The hooded kobolds were thrown back now their cannons erupted in hand, sounding out with a reverberative boom and a hail of sparkling debris.

Projectiles shredding their dark flesh, goblins cried out in panic and pain.

A kobold stood alone still trying to make his pipe spark, which then exploded in hand, destroying the creature in a shower of gore. Two goblins were killed by the force and a third was skewered by propelled bone. The last goblins staggered forward, bleeding from many wounds, and started to bludgeon the cloaked creatures to the ground.

Hjorvarth and Dan clambered out of the pool, and ran forward towards a large cavernous maw while vicious fighting continued in the cavern around them.

Shouts sounded out, along with screams and screeching, punctuated by small explosions. Both men crossed into the darkness while the grey-liveried guards filed into the large cavern behind them, becoming a part of scattered battles that had broken out between invading clans of brutish goblins and exploring groups of kobolds.

“We don’t even know where this leads,” Dan argued into blackness.

“By your echo,” Hjorvarth answered, “it doesn’t end in a fall.”

He kept ahead of Sam’s son just in case, hoping that he might be able to warn him should he fall into chasm as he had once before when traveling with Engli and the Sage.

A myriad of colored luminescence began to bleed into the darkness ahead, suffused by sparkling gemstones that were set into the wide walls of the rugged tunnel. The deep sounds of grunted goblin conversation reached them and both men slowed to a stop.

“Now what?” Dan asked.

Hjorvarth still had a grip on his broken wheel. “We go forward. Perhaps I can reason with them.”

“Reason with them?” Dan asked. “Have you gone fully mad. They are monsters!”

“Yes.” Hjorvarth nodded. “They are… but less than you might think. Perhaps no more than some cruel men.” He smiled in frustration. “We have no choice. Death is behind us, at swords, or at summoned fire. You have to take it on faith that Ilma has not yet weaved to the end of your life. And if she has, well—you are soon to be dead. Worry less.”

Dan frowned, then sighed. “I say again… I wish you’d never come to save me.”

“Believe me,” Hjorvarth replied, starting to run again. “I know that feeling well.”

Ahead of them, in a cavern both long and narrow, a score of brutish and bleeding goblins oversaw the crushing and killing of a dozen cloaked kobolds.

They were oversaw, from a stone plateau that overlooked the cavern floor, by a clan of diminutive goblins named Moonkin. Each had been hued in the different colour of sparkling gemstones that adorned the walls and floors.

Goblins of all sizes turned to the heavy footfalls of a huge manling that strode into the place without fear.

“Greetings, I am—”

“The manling that smells like a troll!” Loffi declared, standing at the plateau’s edge. He bared grimy fangs as ragged ears twisted and twitched. “What doing here, manling?”

“I am as you are, goblin, standing where I have been told to stand. So the man with me, so the men following me, and so all the men behind me, in these caverns, and in the world above. As has every man ever stood in one place or the other. Unless… unless he happened to be a Chief, and I am not a Chief. Not in the slightest.”

Dan stood in silence, wary of the hungry gazes of so many ugly goblins. He wondered how Hjorvarth’s nonsensical words were ever going to convince a group of monsters to let both men pass by unscathed.

Loffi laughed shrill hysterical laughter that bemused all those around him. “Those words must be stuck in your mind, manling. As surely as they are stuck in mine. But that is no bother to me—Loffi.” He turned his orbish gaze to the burliest goblin amid the brutish clan below. “Dugg… you will let the manling pass?”

Dugg rubbed at his green face with thick fingers, then nodded in all severity. “Well I remember the day that the Fire Giant spared my life outside the gates of Horvorr. It deeply troubles me to see such a legendary warrior so unclanned.”

“I am pursued by another of my kind,” Hjorvarth said. “The kobolds have taken my clan, and I march now to find them. Do you know the best way for me to take?”

“Which rat do you seek?” Loffi asked, his eyes narrowed. “Great King Rubinold? Treacherous Zelerath? Or holy, holy, Hubbard the Hallowed?”

Hjorvarth met the words with a shrug. “Whichever is closest.”

“We are not far from Hubbard’s domain, Fire Giant,” said Mugg straightened, straightening to a height almost as tall as the huge man. “I will lead you there. The clan of Mugg honoured to help you find yours.”

“Good luck to Mugg.” Loffi dipped his head in departure. “Should we not meet, I pray The Pool remember you.”

Mugg struggled both to bow low and to also look up at high plateau. “You honour me, Herald Loffi.”

“Man troll.” Loffi bared his fangs at Hjorvarth. “Moonkin. Follow Loffi.” He scampered up a narrow tunnel, soon pursued by his clan of diminutive goblins.

“Come, Fire Giant,” Mugg urged. “Rubinold’s rats crawl in force.”

Dan stared dumbfounded at the respectful group of savage monsters. He let Hjorvarth pull him forward and the two men soon ran alongside the clan of twenty goblins.

They were so broad and brawny that Dan felt as if he were walking amid a clan of small Hjorvarth’s, save that they had no hair and their heads seemed close to neckless.

He carried on as even the pace through darkness drove him to exhaustion, and he gratefully slowed as the goblins did, as they began to argue and shout in low voices that echoed back from the large cavern that they must have stood in.

Dan noticed flickering sparks and heard a faint rhythmic tapping.

“For King Rubinold!” came a chorused screeching.

The first sparks reached the kobold powder. Twin explosions rocked the air with a myriad of colour, revealing dozens of hooded figures encircling the goblins, blocking every avenue, stones sparking while their pipes were lined to fire.

“To ground!” Mugg bellowed. “Protect Fire Giant!”

Hjorvarth’s hands clamped on Dan’s shoulders. “Get—”

The rest of the kobolds seemed to light their weapons in unison, shaking the air and earth, deafening and blinding those in the cavern without distinction.

Dan shut his eyes to brilliant light. He bitterly realised he was going to die.