He rose from the puddle and attempted to cleanse himself, rubbing hands vigorously and shaking arms to rid the muck. The cold, wet sludge slid down his spine, sending shivers through him as he hastily scraped it off, hoping to avoid further soiling his rags.
“You’ll get dirty enough later. Move it!” Cadmun barked.
He reached for the sack, but as he grabbed it, he was pulled back and slipped. Clearly, it was far heavier than anticipated, leaving him once again mired in mud. He rose again, this time hoisting it with both hands. His arms, still sore from carrying wood, protested as he lifted the sack. He took a few short breaths. I can do this! Just like him!
He swung the sack overhead, bracing for its downward pull. With a heavy thump, it hit his back, tugging him backwards. He withstood the weight but flinched at the pickaxes’ sharp ends poking his shoulder blades. After regaining composure, he let out a small, prideful:
“Whoa!”
Cadmun, observing him all the while, turned away silently and began walking towards the other men, signalling departure. Was that a smile I just saw?
He followed Cadmun with heavy steps to the shanties where the men lined up in two rows. He joined the end of the left row beside PP in the right row. His feet sank into muddy puddles under the pickaxes’ weight. PP carried two sacks over each shoulder with ease, despite shackles on his wrists. The chain resting taut on his throat appeared not to trouble him. He could easily choke if someone pulled the sacks.
In that instant, PP turned with a menacing look. Oh no! He will kill me. He will definitely kill me. He heard everything. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I apologise for the disrespect!
“Stand upright.”
What was that?
“Are you listening?” The big man’s voice was surprisingly soft despite his hulking presence.
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“I-, eh… what?”
“Stand upright. Don’t slouch. The Adventurers arrived.”
Relieved he wouldn’t be flattened by another sack of pickaxes, he hadn’t expected such well-meant advice from the giant who’d ignored him until now. That was awfully nice of him.
Yet unease swirled in his stomach. Horses’ galloping grew louder. Knowing the riders were Adventurers, he heeded PP’s advice and straightened, the pickaxes taunting him to topple. PP turned away to face the incoming riders. Two knights in bright red armour commanded their horses to halt before the miners. Each carried a large shield in their left hand. One wielded a mace, the other a sword. They didn’t get off their horses.
“Good morning,” the mace bearer shouted, “slept well through the storm?”
Something was off in the way he spoke. What kind of question is that?
The old man with the scruffy beard replied: “We had to rebuild some tents come dawn, but as you can see we’re all duly present.”
“Pity.” The knight replied. “Maybe we can build some mud huts for you now. Those would hold up better, wouldn’t you agree, Lord Blitz?”
It’s odd how even the Adventurers call him Lord. Even if noble, he’s their prisoner now. What’s with that polite tone?
From the back of the row, he saw the old man’s anger tremble. Yet the white-haired boy remained unmoved. The mace-wielding knight wore a farcical smile as the sword-bearer snickered. They’re mocking us!
Cadmun, waiting by Varyan and his brother at the front, spoke: “Sir, all twenty-six of us are ready to move-”
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A loud thud cut him short. The knight’s mace struck Cadmun’s head with brutal force, sending him collapsing to the ground.
“I don’t remember you being called a Lord!” the knight shouted. His polite facade shattered instantly. Holy shit, these guys are psychopaths!
His legs reacted faster than his mind. He dropped the sack and rushed to the fallen body. “Cadmun!”
He sprinted down the corridor between slave rows as the knights noticed him.
“And who the fuck is this?”
He was nearly at the horses when an arm seized his torso, halting him. It was Varyan, his gaze warning him not to proceed.
“A new arrival,” Varyan explained to the knights. “He arrived extraordinarily during the night. As Cadmun was explaining, there are twenty-six of us here for no given reason.”
The knights exchanged looks of disbelief. Scanning the slave rows for answers, the knights conferred.
The one with the mace started eyed him from top to bottom. “There’s nothing extraordinary about him.”
“It doesn’t look like anyone is hurt or ill. I don’t think he planned for someone to be replaced,” the Sword observed.
“I don’t like this,” said the Mace, “I don’t like this at all.”