Rescue

by R. A. Mejia

  I consider Meno’s words carefully, but if there’s even a chance that I can escape and meet up with my friends, I have to take it.

  I join the stooges as they run off into the forest, the three calling Meno a wimp for not taking a chance to escape.

  The four of us run through the forest, the underbrush scratching my legs through thin prison garb, for about twenty minutes before I hear a familiar clomping sound behind us. I turn my head to see a large figure clad in dark leathers on an even larger horse riding towards us. I yell, “They found us!”

  The stooges turn and see the rider. Moe’s eyes go wide and he cries, “Every man for himself!” as he veers sharply to the right. The other two follow his lead and run off in different directions, and I suddenly find myself running alone. A quick glance back shows me that the rider has not changed course and is still galloping in my direction. I pick up my pace and feel my lungs start to burn as I get a burst of speed, but my race for freedom is short lived. I hear a loud growl off to my left somewhere and then I am suddenly tackled by a blur of fur.

  My head hits the ground with a thud, and I see stars. When my vision clears, I’m staring up into the panting maw of some kind of large cat. Its face is so close that I can count the number of deadly-looking teeth it’s preparing to eat me with. I close my eyes and hope that the end will come swiftly when a voice calls out, “That’s enough, Felix. Let him up. You can go play with the others while I take care of this one.”

  I turn my head towards the sound of the voice and see the guy who was chasing us. Only, now that he’s closer, I can tell that he has dark-green skin and sharp-looking tusks protruding from his mouth. His greasy-looking black hair is tied back away from his face in a series of braids. He has a coil of thick rope in one hand and a long, wicked-looking knife in the other.

  The large, tan feline standing over me sniffs hotly before moving away. Obeying the orders of it’s master, it bounds away to find the other prisoners. As I watch it go, I realize that the beast looks just like an extra-large cougar.

  As I get to my feet, the large orc walks closer to me, and I take a step back unsure of what he plans to do. The orc stops and speaks in an almost bored tone, as if he’s given this speech too many times.

  “Every single batch of new prisoners always has a few who think that they can escape. Well, now you know different. You’re going to go to the work camp, but I’m going to give you a choice as to how you arrive there.” He raises the items in his hands for me to see it better and then says, “I can use the rope or the knife. Which do you choose?”

  I sigh wearily, thinking that maybe I should have listened to Meno after all. I put my wrists together and say, “The rope please.”

  The orc nods and grins, revealing yellow, broken teeth. He only says, “Good choice,” before tying up my hands with one end of the rope and then leading me back to his horse, where he ties the other end to the saddle horn. He takes me back to the very spot I ran away from, and I’m surprised to see Meno still sitting there.

  The orc guard unties the rope from his saddle and orders, “You continue walking down that road until you find the miner’s camp. If you don’t cause any more trouble, I doubt I’ll ever see you again. But, if I do, you won’t get the rope next time.” Without waiting for a response, the guard gallops away, no doubt intending to round up Larry, Moe, and Curly.

  Meno helps untie my hands, and while he has an ‘I told you’ expression on his face, he’s kind enough not to voice the sentiment. Once my hands are free, I rub my sore wrists and dust off my clothes, and the two of us walk down the dirt path deeper into the forest towards where we’ve been told the work camp is.

  Meno and I walk for an hour before the forest starts to thin, and we can see the camp in the distance. Just then, we hear a scream, and the orc guard on horseback comes riding out of the forest, dragging Moe and the others behind him. The large cougar just behind, batting at the stooges as if they’re toys.

  The orc on the horse pauses in front of me and Meno. “Ha. These boys didn’t want to surrender as peacefully, so they got a less pleasant ride back. Now, head down the road to the mine and report to the foreman there. He’ll get you set up with a place to sleep and work.”

  After that, he cuts the rope dragging Larry, Moe, and Curly and rides back into the forest. After a brief but longing glance at its lost toys, the cougar turns and leaves with the ride.

  Larry and Curly grumble about the indignity of the situation as they untie one another and help Moe get untangled from the rope and back to his feet. Once that’s done, the five of us walk down the dirt road to the mining camp. It’s a short walk to a series of empty cloth tents. I’m wondering where everyone is when I hear someone shout out, “Hey, you the new prisoners?”

  I turn and see a thin, grey-haired elderly human sitting on a rock. He’s wearing grey clothing and has some type of bird on his shoulder. Not seeing anyone else, I walk over to him, and say, “Hey. Yes, we’re the new prisoners.” I hold out my hand and continue, “I’m Armon. We’re looking for the foreman. We’re supposed to report to him. Do you know where he is?”

  Ignoring my proffered hand, he nods knowingly. “Yup, thought as much. Was told to wait here for you. I’m Birdie. They call me that on account of my way with my feathered friends.” Pointing up at the black, red-eyed, feathered raven on his shoulder, he continues, “This here is Missy.”

  Birdie looks at me expectantly, and it takes me a second to realize what he wants me to do. I look at the black bird, smile, and politely say, “Uh, hello, Missy. Nice to meet you.”

  Birdie nods once and pets the bird. “Missy says it’s nice to meet you too.”

  Moe pushes past me and grabs the man roughly by his shirt. “Oh, enough of this stupidity, old man. Just tell me where the foreman is, and I won’t beat you.”

  A dangerous glint enters the old man’s eyes, and the bird on his shoulder caws menacingly.

  Meno, standing to my left, leans in and whispers, “You don’t get to be an old man in a place like this without being able to take care of yourself.”

  Birdie points past the camp and says, “The foreman is that way. Feel free to go anytime.”

  Moe frowns at the old man once more before releasing him and walking off in the direction he was given. Larry and Curly follow behind him.

  When the three humans have walked out of earshot, Birdie just shakes his head and slips something sharp-looking back in a pocket. He says, “Those three are going to be trouble. If I was any younger, I’d have . . . Well, that doesn’t matter.” He looks at me and Meno and nods once. “At least you two are polite. You’d be surprised how much trouble that will save you here. Follow me, gentlemen.”

  The old man gets to his feet and leads us past the rows of single-occupant cloth tents to a much larger one that houses large wooden crates. Birdie moves past the wooden desk that occupies the front of the tent and starts to riffle through the crates. He returns and places two cloth packages on the wooden table that separates us and him and tells us, “Here are your tents. One for each of you. Once you get them set up, return here, and I’ll give you the gear you check out for mining.”

  Meno laughs when he takes his tent. As the two of us walk away from the desk, I ask him, “What’s so funny?”

  “Those three idiots are going to have to come back here to put up their tents and get their mining equipment.”

  I laugh when I imagine their faces at finding that they have to make the trip between here and the mine again.

  I look around the campsite for a place to setup my new accommodations. I see an empty space on the perimeter of the camp and make my way there. I clear the ground of any debris and lay out the contents of the cloth bundle. It consists of a large cloth tarp and some wooden poles, and it takes me a little while to figure out that the poles all connect together to form an A-frame. Once the poles are assembled and secured to the ground, the cloth tarp goes over it. I’m quite proud of my tent, even if it does look a little
lopsided.

  You’ve erected a simple tent. While sleeping or resting in your tent, you receive increased regeneration to your mana, stamina, and health.

  I dismiss the notification and turn around to see if Meno needs help putting his tent up, only to find that, not only has he already finished putting up his tent, but that he’s only a few feet away from me. He’s standing outside of a pristine-looking, non-lopsided tent, smiling at me.

  The lean hobgoblin walks over, inspects my work, and then lightly kicks one of the poles holding it up. One entire side of the structure collapses, and Meno tells me with a smirk, “I think your tent needs a bit more work. Need some pointers?” I sigh frustratedly and gladly accept his help. I mean, sure, I can build a whole tepee from scratch, but putting a tent up properly is apparently beyond me. Guess that’s what happens when your parents die before they can take you camping. Meno points out that the tent poles have to really dig into the ground to stop them from collapsing, and he suggests digging small pits for the poles to sit in and surrounding the base of the poles with rocks that will add stability. It only takes a few minutes to get the structure up again.

  Once the structure is complete, I get a notification telling me that my construction skill has gone up to Novice level 5. While it’s nice that erecting a tent counts towards the skill, it doesn’t seem to be a particularly useful thing in a mining camp. With the tent erected, the two of us walk back to Birdie, get our mining equipment, and walk off towards the mine.

  It’s a fifteen-minute walk over hill before we get our first look at the mine. Instead of being somewhere dwarfs dig into a mountain full of magical ore, I find a rather a deep pit in the ground. The mine is set in a large circular pit, which looks like it’s at least one-hundred feet in diameter. There’s a dirt path that winds its way down along the perimeter of the pit to the work area. Down there at the bottom, I see a single tent erected, and there are groups of men pushing carts on rails full of rocks around. They dump the rocks onto a heap then push the now-empty carts back down the track and disappear into the mining shafts.

  Meno and I make our way down the path into the mining pit, and I laugh when we pass Larry, Moe, and Curly walking in the opposite direction with angry looks on their faces.

  Down here, everything seems so much larger. I can hear the sounds of picks striking rocks, the grunts of men as they push carts, and the crashing sound of rocks as they’re dumped. Several men look up from their work as Meno and I walk past them, heading towards the tent. I can see some prisoners point to us and say, “Fresh meat.” At the tent, we find a short, pot-bellied, green-skinned orc. He’s one of the shortest orcs I’ve ever seen. He’s only wearing a leather harness around his chest and a metal skullcap, and he is sitting in a tall chair meant to raise him up to eye level.

  As we approach, he turns and looks at us with beady eyes and a cruel smile. “Well, it’s good that you two finally decided to join us. I had to send the other three newcomers back to camp because they forgot their mining gear.” I have to stifle the laugh that threatens to escape my throat. The short orc frowns at me and raises his voice. “I’ll have you know that I expect you to work hard every day. There will be no shirking of duties in this camp. Do I make myself clear?”

  I glance over at Meno and see that he’s adopted a submissive posture: shoulders lurched, head tilted downward, and eyes downcast. I imitate the hobgoblin, hoping to just get started with work. I really don’t want to start my prison term in the hole--or whatever it is they call solitary confinement here. I risk a quick glance up and see the short orc smiling, pleased at his ability to put others in their place. A part of me wants to punch the smug-looking creature, but the more rational part realizes that would not be in my best interests long term.

  “Well, now that we have that settled,” the orc states in a calmer voice, “why don’t the two of you start working in mine number four. The daily goal for that tunnel is ten tons of ore. Head over there, and the boys there will show you what you need to do.”

  Mind the Mine

  You’ve been given the mandatory task by foreman Creed to help the team in mine number four haul ten tons of ore today. If the mine team fails to complete this task, their food and water rations will be reduced. If they produce more than the required amount, then they will receive additional rewards.

  Reward: Normal food and water rations. Additional rewards based on exceeding minimum quotas.

  Penalty for failure: Reduced food and water rations.

  I don’t see an option to accept or decline the quest, so it must be automatically accepted. The foreman goes back to watching the prisoners work, and I figure we’ve been dismissed. Meno and I back away from the tent and turn towards the mine shafts. There is a wooden sign above each with a number, and we make our way to mine number four after crossing over a set of tracks. The shaft is about six feet tall, and its entrance is braced by a thick set of rough timber. A set of metal rails is anchored to the hard-packed ground and leads out of the mine to a dumping area. Before we can enter, though, we hear a voice call out, “Watch out, you dang blasted fools!”

  I turn to see a mining cart coming towards me with speed, and I jump out of its way. The troll pushing it barely glances at Meno and me before yelling, “If the two of you have been assigned to mine number four, follow me!” The troll doesn’t wait for us to answer and continues pushing the cart. Meno and I do our best to jog after the fast-moving troll. We follow the green brute through the twists and turns of the tunnel until we pass an orc guard armed with a spear. The troll and the cart come to a stop soon after, and I see a group of sweaty and dirty men swinging picks at the walls. Each strike of the tool makes a loud clang, and some of the wall falls down. The troll grabs a tool that’s leaning against the wall and glances at Meno and me. “You two know anything about mining?”

  I shake my head and see Meno do the same. The troll nods as if expecting the answer. “Then you’re on pick up duty till you learn.” He points at two goblins carrying buckets. “Do what they do.” Then, without another word, he walks down the tunnel and starts working.

  I watch the two dead-eyed goblins walk behind the miners and use shovels to scoop the rocks off the ground and put them into large buckets. Once one of the buckets is full, a goblin comes up to the cart we’re standing by and dumps the contents of the bucket into it. He glances over at Meno and me, and there is a small spark of curiosity in his eyes for a moment. But then, as if the effort of asking a question is too much extra work, he shakes his head slightly, says nothing, and goes back to work.

  Meno and I each put our pick along the tunnel wall, grab a shovel, and start to use them to pick up the rocks near the miners. While crouching to avoid the high swings of the miners and their tools, we scoop up then dump each shovel full of dirt, rock, and ore into a small nearby bucket until it’s full. Then, as instructed, we carry it to the ore cart and dump it in. The shovels and buckets aren’t particularly heavy for my strength score of eighteen, and I think I’m doing pretty well until I notice that the goblins are dumping three buckets for every one that I am. I grit my teeth and am determined not to be outdone by the smaller creatures.

  I pick up the pace and start to feel a greater strain on my system. My chest starts to hurt, and my breathing gets rougher as I inhale the dust kicked up by the mining. Sweat stings my eyes as it streams from my brow. The muscles in my back scream for relief as I lean over repeatedly to scoop up rocks and fill buckets. I quickly check my stamina and find that it’s already down to a quarter of its maximum. It’s not the weight of the tools I’m using that drains my stamina. It’s each little repetitive act. I decide to rest and recover my stamina. It takes about fifteen minutes, and then I start the whole tedious cycle again. Two hours of scooping up rocks and hauling, a fifteen minute break, and then back to shoveling. I try to empty my mind to the tedium of tasks, but that doesn’t work out well either. I almost lose an eye from the backswing of a miner’s pick I didn’t see coming, and I’m extra
careful to watch where tools are being swung after that.

  When I hear a loud whistle, I’m confused for a moment. Everyone around me stops what they’re doing and starts to walk out towards the surface. I realize that the whistle must signal the end of the work day. I drop the shovel and get in line but am pulled out by the troll. He points at the dropped item and tells me, “Don’t forget your tools. You have to turn them in each day and check them out the next. There would be hell to pay if the foreman found out you didn’t return everything you checked out. He doesn’t like to have anything that can be turned into a weapon out of his control.”

  It takes a moment for the advice to sink into my tired mind. I guess that makes sense. Can’t have a camp full of prisoners armed with tools when they’re not working. It might give them the idea that they can take the guards. I walk back to where I dropped my shovel and lean down to grab it. My legs and back are so sore that I’m only able to stand back up with a groan and ache. Before I get back in line, I remember to also grab the pickaxe I was given by Birdie. I don’t doubt there’s some kind of punishment for leaving your issued tools behind.