by Vance Moore
The small man smiled widely, his teeth coal black and his tongue a grotesque purple. He nudged a desk stool out and waved for Haddad to sit. His smile was amazingly ugly, but the good humor in it was a tonic to Haddad. He even offered Haddad some nuts as refreshment.
"If you don't mind a smile like mine, these are really tasty."
Haddad only nodded but declined to sample the dish. The official was quite tiny and fine featured. His eyes appeared to squint in the light, and his skin was pale.
"My name is Fumash, originally of the Kipamu League Customs Service. Captured by long shore raiders as I inspected a cargo in harbor." Fumash was pensive, his hands slowly touching everything on the table as he spoke. "Not to dwell on the past, I arrived as one of the first slaves to this lovely port and started at the bottom of the bottom. The Keldons had just landed and were setting up. The imported slaves thought me above myself, and so I ended up here." Haddad looked around at the small comforts Fumash arranged for himself, even an awning to be set up if the sun grew too strong. Fumash saw his disbelief.
"Don't be fooled. This is the bottom of the line. The Keldons on the other side of this tent have no status and fit into no clan or structure. They man small land barges, able to carry a few tons of cargo or a small squad of men. They are warriors, but they operate in very small groups. They are constantly being reassigned to any higher status Keldon who needs temporary transportation. They are nearly civilians." The hands searching the table found a thin sack of wine, and Fumash dumped out the dregs from a cup and offered a drink to Haddad.
"Yes, please." He was grateful for the human gesture. Fumash paused in his story, and Haddad realized he should savor the wine. "Please continue," Haddad requested after a final swallow.
"Well, you have a large number of Keldons constantly changing assignments in very small groups. Of course there are a huge number of fights." Fumash shook his head at the foibles of his masters. "Every night they tried to fight out a new structure, each morning about a quarter of them were smashed up with new crews forming and new conflicts arising for the next night. I don't know how it was in Keld, but here it was a mess. The slaves were even getting involved, trying to increase the glory of whoever their master was for that day. I wasn't doing very well."
Haddad had to appreciate the man's sense of humor. Any Keldon would dwarf his small frame. In addition, human slaves working the vehicles could be rough indeed. But many officers curbed excessive discipline and valued the loyalty and service that a slave could bring to small crews. There was still an ample supply of sadists and thugs working at the low end of Keldon society, but a master who valued you and considered you more than an animal could be found.
"Eventually they put Druik in command. He was a hero in their homeland, you know. He has close ties to several commanders and warlords from his younger days, so everyone respects him. He might have had high office if he had remained on Keld, but he had to leave for some reason. But to the common warrior, he has achieved an automatic reception of support and loyalty. Even if someone were to challenge him, the other Keldons would pull the challenger down. Besides, he can still fight fairly well, enough to kill most warriors." There was an undertone of fondness Fumash soon shook off.
"Now Druik keeps all the barge crews in stable units. The warriors still fight over duties, but there is less violence even if the arguments are just as loud. I was drafted to keep the records and clerk for Druik. I am also the official recorder of bets," Fumash said.
Haddad had to laugh. "A gamemonger! How could you, a slave, ever get the money to cover bets?" Haddad couldn't imagine any slave having real power.
"I record the bets and oversee the gambling the warriors do to establish status and decide duty schedules. By having them compete against one another, the urge to dominate is assuaged, and the loser is willing to accept a loss. He knows there is a chance he can win back his place tomorrow. The actual loss of warriors and slaves to dominance fights are lower than any other section of the camp. I also receive some advantage since I record and adjust the odds for many of the bets. As a representative of Druik, of course." Fumash apparently realized how long he had been talking and got back to business. "The land barge under Cradow is on service today. He is at the back of the field, the figure of a toad on the body and shield of his craft. Best you seek him now and ask him to report before the artificer grows impatient. Good luck to you." With that, Fumash began reorganizing his slates after checking off what must be Cradow's craft.
Somewhat nonplussed by his abrupt dismissal, Haddad rose and set the emptied wine cup on the edge of the table. He walked to the back of the tent and saw the small barges, only three times the length of freight wagons. The Keldon warriors were working on their combat gear and ordering slaves to do maintenance. He turned one last time to look at Fumash and his small table embodying the height of human authority that Haddad had seen in the colony. For all of the small man's good nature, position, and acceptance for his work, Fumash still set up his table so he stared at the dung and stench of the stock pens rather than the Keldons he served.
Eventually Haddad found the barge with the toad on its upper shield. The Keldons and the slaves looked at him with hostility as he called to see the warrior in charge.
"I'll get Cradow then," a slave said. He walked back to the barge and shouted into its hold.
Cradow was slightly smaller than the average Keldon, and he only grunted and muttered something about terrible luck as Haddad presented his authority token from Latulla.
The barges were scattered all over the field in no particular order that Haddad could discern. Each crew camped in and around their machine. Haddad could see arguments and shoving breaking out as crewmen moved equipment to stake out their space. The barges were tiny castles, and each had its independent army trying to conquer as much space as possible. Haddad wondered what it looked like before Druik and Fumash "organized" the barge crews.
"Come on up, whelp," Cradow called. "The rest of you lot get ready to depart at once."
Slaves and warriors began breaking down gear and throwing it into the barge.
"Artificers hate to wait," Cradow explained to a warrior who was snarling as he did a slave's work in moving gear into the barge. The Keldon's comment was a common saying, judging from the nods of everyone within hearing distance, and Haddad had to agree as he gave directions to Latulla's dwelling.
*****
The barge traveled for hours in almost utter silence with only occasional orders from Latulla to Cradow. The normal chatter and noise of a working crew were swallowed up by the silence centered on Latulla. When they began to draw near their destination, Haddad felt relief, even if the omens heralding their arrival were poor.
It was the ungodly smell that signaled the camp. Haddad had seen massacres and smelled rendering yards, but the sheer scale of this stench rose far above any odor he had ever encountered. They were traveling down into the bowl of a long, stretched-out valley. There should have been a lake or a stream exiting toward the sea. Instead there was a temporary barn surrounded by a wall of thorns and vines. There were animals caught in the spikes and tangles of the surrounding barrier, and there were also the bodies of slaves and even one Keldon guard trapped in the deadly brambles. The dead warrior's head slumped as if in sleep, the flesh rotting and tattered from the efforts of scavengers. A gate broke the mounds of brush, and Cradow directed the vehicle with particular care as they entered. A bandaged and filthy Keldon left the darkness of the rough structure. He supported himself with a staff as he came to meet them.
"Who comes to the Clinging Bogs?" he intoned as he shielded his eyes from the dim sunlight. He leaned on the staff and showed none of the vitality Haddad had seen even in the most crippled warriors back at the landing.
"I am the Artificer Latulla, and I come for an accounting from the leader of this… fortress." She looked around. There was only a great barn and nothing else-no barracks, cookhouses, or latrines. It was just a shell surrounded by disgu
sting mounds of decaying flesh and razor vines. "I wonder at the lack of guards. In fact, the smell is the only thing the enemies of Keld must fear. Where are your warriors?"
"I am Lord Urit, and my warriors are where they are needed." Urit drew himself up a little straighter. He was shorter than many of the Keldons whom Haddad had seen.
His face was gaunt and distorted by heavy brows and a massive jaw. His hands were huge, and swollen knuckles gripped his ebony staff. Haddad could see fine clothing under the mud, and he wondered how a commander could get in such a poor state. Urit gestured at the green wood and piles of rotting vegetation, his staff dripping as it swung to emphasize his words.
"This is just a way station and doesn't need fortification or guards. If enemies ever try to burn it, I wish them luck. Only a mage could start a fire that can burn in these swamps. If I had more men, perhaps I could post a proper guard instead of trusting slaves!" Urit reined himself in with difficulty, and the passion that had animated his speech drained out of his face and posture. Latulla was nonplussed at the near tirade, and Haddad wondered how she would react after her anger had festered for a while.
"Certain changes must be made to your vehicle before you can continue," Urit announced as slaves opened large doors in the central building. "Without new traction devices fitted to your barges, you would mire before you reached the workings. I can provide some refreshment while the changes are made to your machine."
"I am unfamiliar with the operations out here. I thought the pits themselves were some miles farther on." Latulla, grim as she was, faded into the background in the all-pervasive gloom. "Who oversees the actual diggings?"
"I am considered master of these bogs, Artificer. If any can be called master." He walked farther out to the gate. "Don't touch anything on the mounds, and try to walk on bare soil or mud."
Some of the barge slaves drifted closer to the wall of greenery and were waved back.
Lord Urit turned and called to the sheds, "Bring out the prisoner. I want to show our guests the strength of our 'fortress.' "
The prisoner was tightly bound hand and foot and gagged for good measure. His Keldon guard was forced to carry him, and at every step the captive bucked and fought with a strength that would have seemed lunatic anywhere else. In the poor light and the surrounding desolation, the slave's energy seemed almost demonic.
The guard threw the prisoner down. "Please get rid of him now, Lord Urit. I'm sick of him."
Lord Urit leaned on his staff and shook his head in agreement. "Call out everyone. A lesson isn't worth much if no one sees it."
The guard turned to fetch the compound's slaves, and Urit reversed his staff and pinned the prisoner down. The slave was filthy and foul looking, his features shadowed by mud and stained with juices from cut vegetation. The mud marked everyone in the camp, and the slaves slowly gathering were as dull as the dirt that flecked their faces and collected on their clothes. Even the Keldon guards seemed lethargic. Lord Urit's stooped demeanor was replicated in his guards, and even the promise of a punishment excited little Keldon interest. The slave to be punished was different in the energy and frenzy of his movements. There were ulcers and sores on his limbs, but they were distributed all over, and Haddad knew it was more than the chains of slavery that had punished his body.
Everyone was out of the shed and formed a rough semicircle with Lord Urit at its focus. He leaned on his stick hard, and Haddad heard the slave gasp as the haft dug into his belly.
"We are here to punish a slave who would run. He tried to cheat the Keldon nation and everyone here of his labor.
This sin merits death because his despicable act effects us all. Without loyalty, without the will to endure, we die. His death is more merciful than what he wished to inflict upon us." With that Lord Urit bent and picked up the slave. He raised him over his head and slowly walked toward the gate. He was unsteady, and the squirming of the victim threatened to overwhelm him. He cast the slave onto the interior slope of the mound with great force, and the body sank deep into the piled vegetation. It stuck there, and Haddad could hear a faint crackle and could see liquid soaking the clothes and limbs of the slave. There was a high keening and the body vibrated. How any sound could escape the cruel gag was a mystery, but Haddad could hear the snapping of bones as the tension in the slave's muscles went past the endurance of mere mortal flesh. Lord Urit and Latulla watched the body until all life left it. Urit watched with weary eyes, but Latulla seemed to savor every tremor of pain and muted scream. Urit gestured to the body.
"The vegetation that we piled up is thorny and poisonous. The animals of the land avoid it, and I thought a mound around the shed would make a fine fence. Unfortunately, it has taken root and new plants have begun to grow. Some are covered in a sap that grips tighter than a vise anything it touches. The other puts forth pods or buds filled with poison and seeds. When these touch flesh they break, soaking into almost anything and driving tendrils throughout the victim's body. I've thrown a chunk of firewood and found it rived by fronds in seconds. If we could, we would burn it and forget walls altogether, but it is too wet to burn and now too dangerous to cut and remove. We merely keep the interior of the circle clear, and I wonder how much longer that will be possible," Urit said, the hate thick on his tongue.
"Burn it? Something so efficient and elegant in its operation? I think you overwrought by your isolation, Lord Urit," Latulla said, enraptured by the sheer deadliness of the barrier. "I believe these mounds serve your camp better than stone or wooden palisades."
"As I said before, this is not the main camp. The barrack and my quarters are located three miles up that rise." Urit pointed up the slope of a gentle hill to where a muddy trail went up and over the side. "We had to go that far to get away from the stench and find ground firm enough to build on. I also wanted a well with water I could trust."
"Interesting, but I didn't come here to get a history. I came to find out why production is so low. The largest concentration of tufa within easy distance of the camp was detected here, yet nothing has come out of these bogs despite the numbers of guards, slaves, and materials you have requested and received." Latulla was calm in her delivery, but the threat and anger behind her words was clear.
"I am not sure we will ever get any Heroes' Blood from this land of muck." Urit was intense and livelier as he defended himself. "As foul and difficult as the land is here, it is much worse at the workings. Until you have seen them you can understand nothing." Urit gripped his staff tighter and met Latulla's eyes directly. "I will escort you myself. You will see that whatever your desires, the land will not meet them."
*****
Lord Urit said not a word as the modifications to the barge were finished. Each leg of the machine now ended in a large shoe that reminded Haddad of a pontoon. The slaves finished tightening the last few bolts very slowly even after seeing the slave's death.
"We work in a land more treacherous than any enemy's heart," Urit explained. "Without additional support the barge will bog down even though it was designed for any terrain. I often wonder how the Heroes' Blood was laid down in this domain of mud. The bravery and power of our ancestors was greatest in reaching the battlefield."
Latulla took exception to this blasphemy. "You forget yourself, Urit," she exclaimed. "The Heroes' valor in battle is our legacy, not the conquest of a marsh."
"You will soon see how hard it is to conquer a mere marsh," Urit replied. "Like any war, each battle with the mud has taught us new tactics-the additional traction devices for the barges, new methods of excavation, and trying to preserve the warrior spirit in a land that mires every step. We are fighting, and no one outside the bogs seems to realize how desperate that fight is."
Urit boarded the barge without permission from Latulla but seated himself in an inferior position. However the lord of the bogs viewed his challenge to Latulla and her ideas, he was playing a balancing act. Haddad couldn't read his intentions, but looking at the miserable countenances around him, Hadd
ad realized that losing his life and position was not a realistic threat to make against the grim lord. The odor of rotting animals and bodies caught in the razor vine wall faded as they left the great shed behind, but the insects grew steadily worse, settling on everything like dirt in a dust storm.
It was only twenty minutes before the barge moved into another cloud, this one of stench, of rotting flesh worse than the odor from the mounds around the transport shed. Cradow stopped the barge at Lord Urit's signal. Haddad got his first real look at the work site they had traveled so far to see.
The centerpiece of the site was the system of cranes. They loomed over a pit, each resting on pilings and pontoons set into what looked like solid ground. Every structure reminded Haddad of piers and bridges set over water, as if the builders thought the ground might liquefy and try to swallow the mining camp at any moment.
Even as he watched, one of the cranes began to move. The network of cables and counterweights jerked into motion. The bottom of each crane was connected to a long base that extended quite a distance behind the structure. A huge upright wheel on struts provided motive power. The wheels were very much like the prison wheels Haddad had seen illustrated in a manual on power transmission. Prisoners were forced to walk and climb for hours inside them until legal reforms and better engines ended the practice. Haddad was relieved to see each of the crane power wheels was connected to a small barge. Latulla was also observing the site and tilted her head at the innovation.
"There is always a shortage of slaves," Lord Urit explained, "and the wheels went through them too fast. Besides, the insects drove the workers crazy when heavy lifting was called for. We had heat exhaustion and dehydration cases the first day workers were in the wheel. I ordered our technician to rig up a power transfer so we could use the barges."
