Days of High Adventure Read Online Free Page B
Author: Elliott Kay
to the sound of Yaol’s cackling laughter.
***
“What the hell is this? Some nobleman?”
“Hardly,” said the guard as he shoved Eric to the rocky ground. His days-long trip from the tower through the desert had not been gentle. Eric’s t-shirt hung in shreds from his shoulders. Scrapes and bruises adorned his flesh. His wallet, keys and the smashed remains of his cell phone lay miles away.
Eric found himself in a broad pit dug into a hillside hundreds of yards across. Here and there stood simple tents of burlap or leather, piles of rock and debris and crudely-built horse-drawn carts. Torches scattered throughout the mining camp held back the night. Everywhere, Eric saw men in little more than loincloths toiling with shovels, picks and broad pans. He spotted a few women among the laborers, too, which coupled with the variety of skin tones left him thinking that slavery here was an equal opportunity practice.
That didn’t leave him feeling any better about it.
He saw guards, too: men in piecemeal leather and plate, with halberds, spears and whips. Most wore cloth masks. Those who did not were ugly enough that masks would’ve been an improvement.
The same could be said for the barrel-chested overseer who stood beside him. “Get up, boy!” the man barked. His head was shaved and his skin deeply tanned from long days in the sun. He folded his arms across his chest skeptically as Eric rose.
“I am Tronus. You will work or you will die. That is all you need to know. Oh. And that the camp is surrounded by archers,” Tronus added. “Do not think of escape. You will be shot before you can even see the city. Have you handled a pick before? Or a shovel?”
“Not a pick,” Eric shrugged. “Only a little with a shovel.”
“Fah!” Tronus spat. He gestured to one of the other guards. He shifted to another language, in which he said, “Get him a pan and take him to the southwest shaft. He can haul rocks. Maybe he’ll catch on quickly, eh?”
Another guard laughed. He grabbed Eric and hauled him along.
Eric frowned thoughtfully. He could understand two different tongues here. Yaol had done something magical to him and Amanda to allow them to speak his language. Yet clearly he understood this other one, too. Eric wondered how many languages he could understand. He also wondered if it would help to reveal that to his new masters.
“Take this,” grunted the guard. He shoved a large mining pan into Eric’s arms. It was so big that Eric wondered if it had originally been the body of a wheelbarrow. The guard, not taking understanding for granted, pointed to a nearly-naked man emerging from a tunnel in the side of the hill. The hapless man bore a similar pan, only his was full of rocks and sand. He staggered out, dumped his load into a horse-drawn cart, and then returned to the shaft.
The guard kicked Eric in the side, pushing him toward the same shaft. Eric bowed his head and followed instructions.
They weren’t going to hurt Amanda. He had heard that much. The mine was only a few days away from the town by cart. Eric needed time to get oriented and to figure out his options.
He shuffled and stumbled down the mine shaft, resolving to watch and listen. There would be opportunities for escape. There had to be.
***
“They won’t kill him unless he is stupid. If he is smart, he will work and he will be fine. Slaves cost money. No sense wasting them.” The strange, older man sat at a table covered in bound scrolls, small tools and crystal. H e focused his attention on a particular green piece, into which he slowly drilled small holes with great care.
Amanda stood nearby, holding the handles of an iron kettle full of bubbling...well, she didn’t really know what it was. It was important that she not spill. It was also important that she not get her nose too close to it. After a week of more menial toil, Amanda had finally been brought into Yaol’s laboratory. It was still manual labor, but
***
“What the hell is this? Some nobleman?”
“Hardly,” said the guard as he shoved Eric to the rocky ground. His days-long trip from the tower through the desert had not been gentle. Eric’s t-shirt hung in shreds from his shoulders. Scrapes and bruises adorned his flesh. His wallet, keys and the smashed remains of his cell phone lay miles away.
Eric found himself in a broad pit dug into a hillside hundreds of yards across. Here and there stood simple tents of burlap or leather, piles of rock and debris and crudely-built horse-drawn carts. Torches scattered throughout the mining camp held back the night. Everywhere, Eric saw men in little more than loincloths toiling with shovels, picks and broad pans. He spotted a few women among the laborers, too, which coupled with the variety of skin tones left him thinking that slavery here was an equal opportunity practice.
That didn’t leave him feeling any better about it.
He saw guards, too: men in piecemeal leather and plate, with halberds, spears and whips. Most wore cloth masks. Those who did not were ugly enough that masks would’ve been an improvement.
The same could be said for the barrel-chested overseer who stood beside him. “Get up, boy!” the man barked. His head was shaved and his skin deeply tanned from long days in the sun. He folded his arms across his chest skeptically as Eric rose.
“I am Tronus. You will work or you will die. That is all you need to know. Oh. And that the camp is surrounded by archers,” Tronus added. “Do not think of escape. You will be shot before you can even see the city. Have you handled a pick before? Or a shovel?”
“Not a pick,” Eric shrugged. “Only a little with a shovel.”
“Fah!” Tronus spat. He gestured to one of the other guards. He shifted to another language, in which he said, “Get him a pan and take him to the southwest shaft. He can haul rocks. Maybe he’ll catch on quickly, eh?”
Another guard laughed. He grabbed Eric and hauled him along.
Eric frowned thoughtfully. He could understand two different tongues here. Yaol had done something magical to him and Amanda to allow them to speak his language. Yet clearly he understood this other one, too. Eric wondered how many languages he could understand. He also wondered if it would help to reveal that to his new masters.
“Take this,” grunted the guard. He shoved a large mining pan into Eric’s arms. It was so big that Eric wondered if it had originally been the body of a wheelbarrow. The guard, not taking understanding for granted, pointed to a nearly-naked man emerging from a tunnel in the side of the hill. The hapless man bore a similar pan, only his was full of rocks and sand. He staggered out, dumped his load into a horse-drawn cart, and then returned to the shaft.
The guard kicked Eric in the side, pushing him toward the same shaft. Eric bowed his head and followed instructions.
They weren’t going to hurt Amanda. He had heard that much. The mine was only a few days away from the town by cart. Eric needed time to get oriented and to figure out his options.
He shuffled and stumbled down the mine shaft, resolving to watch and listen. There would be opportunities for escape. There had to be.
***
“They won’t kill him unless he is stupid. If he is smart, he will work and he will be fine. Slaves cost money. No sense wasting them.” The strange, older man sat at a table covered in bound scrolls, small tools and crystal. H e focused his attention on a particular green piece, into which he slowly drilled small holes with great care.
Amanda stood nearby, holding the handles of an iron kettle full of bubbling...well, she didn’t really know what it was. It was important that she not spill. It was also important that she not get her nose too close to it. After a week of more menial toil, Amanda had finally been brought into Yaol’s laboratory. It was still manual labor, but
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