Revolt of Blood and Stone

by A. J. Norfield

  “They tr—”

  “Silence,” thundered Black Death Setra to the muttering crowd. His face was flushed.

  One of the slaves did not shut his mouth fast enough. The high general stalked over as the slave realized his mistake, stepping back in horror as the Black Death came near. He was not given the chance to mutter another sound before the general’s dagger sunk into his abdomen.

  Setra turned and walked back. The slave slumped to the ground, holding his wound, and bled out as the conversation continued.

  “The next one who speaks will find a spot next to these men without question,” spoke the Black Death in a clear voice, before he turned back to the overseer.

  “You were saying?”

  “They tried to break into the scroll storage, sir.”

  The general’s face turned even redder.

  “I see,” he said. “That is a problem. Were they working alone?”

  “Unknown, sir.”

  “Alright. If you please,” Black Death Setra said with a voice as sharp as a knife. He held out his hand for the overseer’s whip. “I’ll take it from here.”

  The high general looked over the crowd of slaves once more.

  “These two men tried to break into a restricted area,” he called. “A third lies dead in the palace above. He paid for his disobedience much too easily, for these men tried to take something very special from me—an action you all know cannot go unpunished.”

  He turned toward the kneeling men.

  “Now, you each have a simple choice to make,” he continued, using the whip to lift Ezac’s chin. “I know there were others involved. I’m certain of it. So, you can tell me who was in on it and I promise you, your suffering will be short. Or we can stretch this out until you spill your guts and tell me everything you know. Who knows; perhaps some of these fools will pity you and step forward to confess. It matters little to me, but one way or another one of you will talk before I slit your throat.”

  “We did it alone,” said Ezac. He fought to keep his voice under control. It was what they had agreed upon before they made the attempt. “There was no one else.”

  The general grabbed the Roc’turr from his belt and waved it slowly in front of their faces; its blade was colored dark red.

  “Now, I know that’s not true. I feel it in my bones,” said the general. “There’s more of you vermin among this crowd, and I want to make certain they will not try anything stupid again.”

  Ezac shivered visibly. A sob escaped his lips as tears and snot wet his face. Troy looked away from their interrogator, still searching the crowd. Sebastian saw the moment of recognition when he spotted Jarod.

  In the meantime, the Black Death had circled behind them. He let the whip unroll from his hand. The overseer shouted an order, spurring two guards to tear the shirts from both men’s backs. The whip sliced through the air half a dozen times. Ezac screamed immediately. Troy tried to withstand the pain, but the third strike must have cut deep, for Sebastian heard a grunt escape his throat. These were not soldiers trained in the hardships of fighting, taught to withstand the unpleasantness of what the human body could feel. These were simply men, captured from ships or dragged from their homes to a life of misery in a place where hardly anyone saw daylight.

  Ezac had fallen to the floor, trying to roll away from the whip. At a gesture from the high general, he was dragged back onto his knees by a guard and received a punch in his face for the attempt. When both men looked up, Corza Setra stood before them once more.

  “Either of you can make it stop,” he said. “Just tell me who else was working with you.”

  Troy stared silently into the Black Death’s face. One of his eyes was now swollen shut. The high general hit him in the face.

  “Silence will not help you,” he added.

  “Ahem, sir. If I may say something, please.”

  It was the overseer, who carefully stepped forward.

  “What is it?”

  “I believe this one does not actually speak our language.”

  Setra looked at the overseer, then back at the man. He let out a sigh.

  “I am surrounded by idiots,” he said before switching up his speech. “Which is it then? Terran? Tiankonese? That horrible spitting language of the southern cities?”

  Each word was spoken in a different language, some of which Sebastian had never heard of.

  “No, you look like one of those filthy sailors from the midlands,” continued the high general in Aeterra’s native tongue—a language Sebastian knew from birth. “The great kingdom of Aeterra, always meddling in everyone’s affairs. Well, tell me, sailor. Who are you working with?”

  “We have to do something,” whispered Sebastian, out of the soldiers’ earshot.

  “We can’t,” said Jarod.

  “But they’re going to kill them.”

  “I know, but if we do anything they’ll kill us too,” replied Jarod.

  “If either of them talks, we’re dead anyway,” said Shaun.

  In the circle, Black Death Setra slowly made a cut along Troy’s chest. The slave roared in pain, the sound providing cover for their whispered conversation.

  “Can’t we overpower them?” urged Sebastian. “There aren't many guards. How many of us will fight?”

  Jarod shook his head.

  “We might win the battle, but we’ll never get out of here. They’ll lock us in. Push us back into the tunnels until they weed every single one of us out.”

  “Maybe we can capture Setra? Demand they release us,” Shaun suggested.

  “It won’t work,” said Jarod. “Not enough will join the fight if we can’t show an advantage. We’ll be hacked to pieces.”

  Ezac let out a scream as the general’s Roc’turr split open his arm.

  “Damn it,” grated Shaun between his teeth. “We need to get out. My sister is due any moment. If that child is born in this forsaken place, it will be taken up those stairs and out of this life before it has tasted its first milk.”

  “Alright. Time to try something a bit more drastic,” said the high general. “You, there. Bring your axe.”

  The soldier broke away from the circle and pulled out his axe. It was of the long, double-bladed variety; a weapon to incite fear, and not without reason. A rope was tied around Troy’s hand, then pulled forward to stretch out his arm. Another man twisted Troy’s head sideways and toward the ground.

  “Now, tell me what I want to know, or I give the order to take you apart piece by piece.”

  The general’s voice was icy calm, as if the torture had put him entirely in his element. The rage dissipated from his face as he proceeded with careful calculation.

  Sebastian saw Troy look desperately in their direction as he tried to pull his hand back. His eyes pleaded for help. But what could they do? Sebastian saw the sadness on Jarod’s face as the man who had taken care of him and Marek these last few years slowly shook his head.

  A look of defeat flowed over Troy’s face. He swallowed, closed his eyes and let his head hang low.

  “Well?” demanded Black Death Setra.

  Troy lifted his head to look the waiting man in the eye.

  “We did it alone. There was no one else.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  The high general pointed at the slave’s hand. The soldier’s axe cut through the air and did not stop until it hit the rocky ground. Troy screamed as he stared at his stump with wide eyes. On the ground in front of him lay his severed hand, fingers still twitching. Blood gushed out of his arm.

  Ezac nearly lost it, muttering one word over and over.

  “No, no, no, no.”

  Sebastian had to turn his head away for a moment. When he looked back, he saw Troy’s lips already starting to lose their color. Perhaps the blood loss would give him a mercifully quick end.

  But Setra was already on his way to fix it. With a grin, he pushed a red-hot plate of steel against the wound as two soldiers pinned Troy down again. The screech that rose fr
om Troy’s throat was nearly inhuman. The sizzle of flesh and the smell made Sebastian gag. A few people in the crowd vomited, but no one dared say anything in protest.

  Within the circle, Troy lay unconscious, knocked out by the pain. Immediately, the general called the overseer forward with a bucket of water. It was thrown over the disfigured slave, jolting him awake again.

  “No sleeping on the job,” said Black Death Setra. “Now, are you ready to tell me? Or should we move on to the next part?”

  Troy looked the high general straight in the eye. Half the slave’s face was swollen and painted purple from the bruises; he had a severed hand and a slashed back. The pain must have been excruciating, so Sebastian was shocked when he heard Troy start to laugh.

  It was not a clear laugh, nor one brought on by amusement. It was a laugh spurred by disbelief, utter denial and contempt.

  “I think he has lost it, sir,” said the overseer. He grabbed Troy’s chin and stared into his eyes.

  “That’s alright. He can listen while we talk to the other one here,” said Setra with a grin.

  “No, please,” sputtered Ezac as two soldiers grabbed him and bound the rope around his wrist.

  It was pulled forward, stretching out his arm. The soldier lifted his axe, ready to follow the general’s command.

  “Stop, stop, please stop,” sobbed Ezac. “I’ll tell you everything.”

  Setra smiled as he stepped back.

  “Wonderful. What a great choice,” he said.

  “No, Ezac. Shut up,” shouted Troy. “You’ll tell them nothing.”

  On his knees, Troy tried to shuffle toward his scared partner, but the flat of a soldier’s sword whacked into his head. He slammed against the ground and lay there as Black Death Setra towered above him.

  “Silence is one thing. But actively attempting to spoil my fun is unacceptable,” said the high general.

  The man kicked Troy in the head, knocking him out cold again.

  Sebastian nearly lost it. His heart raced in his chest, each beat ramming into his head like a pickaxe. Ezac would give them all away. He was certain of it. They would all hang by morning. Fight and flight fought a battle over his control. His mind tried to make sense of it all as fear crept upon him. He should never have said he wanted to help. He should have known it would not work out well. Now it would all be for nothing and those bastards would get away with it. He would get no vengeance for his father. He would not even be able to return any of the hurt they had given him. He would never see his mother and sister again, ever. His anger tried to stomp on his fear, resulting only in an immense feeling of frustration.

  He was trying to control his breathing when movement caught his eye on the other side of Jarod. Shaun stepped forward, only to be held back by Jarod’s grip.

  “We can’t save them,” said Jarod.

  Shaun yanked back his arm.

  “I’m trying to save us all. You make sure my sister gets out.”

  “Shaun, wait,” hissed Jarod.

  But it was too late. Shaun slid between the workers, his eyes darting between the two closest soldiers and their weapons. Without hesitation, he leaped from the crowd and used his weight and momentum to ram his body into the nearest soldier. He grabbed the knife from the soldier’s belt and sprinted forward.

  Startled by the ruckus, High General Setra took a few steps back as Shaun launched forward. But his target had never been the general. He shot past him and sank the knife into Ezac’s chest.

  “I’m sorry,” whispered Shaun.

  Ezac coughed a spray of blood. The tortured slave slumped to the side, when he let out a last rattling breath before passing on to the afterlife.

  Shaun jumped up and turned around, knife still in hand.

  “They’ll never tell you anything,” Shaun said defiantly. “And neither will I.”

  He lifted the knife, ready to jump at Troy. But before he could move, a crossbow bolt pierced his calf. He buckled in pain. Another soldier jumped forward, grabbed his wrist and brought his knuckles down into Shaun’s face. Sebastian flinched, but he felt a firm, comforting hand on his chest: Jarod.

  Shaun dropped the knife as two more punches rammed into the back of his head.

  “Quiet!” called the general as the crowd burst into panic.

  The slaves were like frightened deer, ready to break out into a stampede if control was not maintained.

  “You were saying?” said Black Death Setra to Shaun.

  Their friend swallowed and looked around.

  Everyone was watching what Shaun would do next—Sebastian included. He knew Shaun had promised his sister she would not lose her child inside this mine. The man saw it as his duty to get them out safe. Yet there he now lay at the mercy of these sadistic bastards.

  But what can he do? thought Sebastian, horrified.

  Any action would force a soldier to slash him down. Or had that been the man’s plan all along? But what about the sister then? And it would still leave Troy…could they really expect him to withstand additional torture and keep their planned outbreak a secret?

  Desperation read on Shaun’s face, likely struggling with the same thoughts as Sebastian. Sebastian saw him look up as a call came down from the stairs. The high general ordered one of his men to watch Shaun and waited for the palace guard to make his way through the sea of slaves. The message was relayed in a near whisper.

  “It seems more pressing matters have found me,” Setra said to the overseer. “Take these two tunnel rats to the cavern guardhouse. We’ll continue this later.”

  “What about the rest?” asked the overseer.

  Black Death Setra turned to him with a with look of disbelief on his face.

  “Back to work, of course! Make it a double shift.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” replied the man hastily.

  “Oh, and should neither of them talk within a day or two, just pick twenty workers at random and execute them,” the high general continued. “That should make them think twice about trying anything for a while.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the overseer once more before turning around to their startled audience. “You heard the man. Get back to work, you filth! And make it fast.”

  As the crowd dispersed, Sebastian and Jarod lingered a moment longer. Jarod tried to make eye contact with Shaun, but their wounded comrade was dragged off toward the large cavern doors. Two other soldiers grabbed Troy’s legs and dragged him toward the guardhouse as well. There was nothing they could do but hope both men were strong enough to keep their mouths shut.

  Chapter 5

  Newborn

  “Where’s Shaun? Why won't anyone tell me where my brother is? Ngggh!”

  “Breathe, Mette, breathe,” said another woman’s voice.

  The voices grew louder as Sebastian and Jarod were led by one of the kitchen girls into a small tunnel. A convulsion overtook the laboring woman’s entire body just as they reached the end of it.

  “This is happening now?” said Jarod. He quickly turned Sebastian back around and looked away himself.

  “Argh!”

  “We have to keep her quiet. Put something between her teeth,” whispered a woman, ignoring both men. The woman looked into Mette’s eyes. “Breathe with me, dear. You can do it. Pfff, pfff, pffffff.”

  “Why were we called here? This is no place for a man,” said Jarod, still shielding his eyes from the scene that left little to the imagination.

  “Because she keeps asking for her brother and I don’t know what to say,” snapped Svetka. “Now grow a pair and hold that lantern high so I can see what I’m doing. The baby is sideways, so I’ll need to turn it.”

  Svetka placed her hands firmly on the bulging belly, repositioned them twice and gave one of her assistants a small nod.

  “Brace yourself, honey,” said one of the women supporting Shaun’s sister.

  Mette screamed again, her face twisted in pain.

  “Almost there. Almost. Good, good. Now breathe,” said Svetk
a in an unusually compassionate voice.

  With a mix of horror and fascination, Sebastian watched how Svetka and the others tried their best to twist the baby around.

  “How long has she been like this?” asked Jarod.

  “Half a shift. I found her like this after the…gathering,” answered Svetka. “I would have sent for you sooner, but you were still in the tunnels working.”

  “Jarod? Is that you?” gasped Mette, noticing him for the first time. “Do you know where he is? Where Shaun is? He wanted to be here for this. Ngggh!”

  “I think he’s on a shift,” lied Jarod. “Sebastian will go and look for him. Won’t you, Seb?”

  “Shouldn’t we tell her?” whispered Sebastian.

  “Not now. Not like this,” said Jarod. “She needs to focus on the will to live right now. Just go and keep an eye out in the tunnels.”

  Sebastian regarded Mette, who squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth as another contraction hit. He trusted Jarod knew what he was talking about. Besides, he was relieved to have an excuse to leave, so he gave a quick nod and disappeared out of the tunnel again.

  Once out, Sebastian wondered what he should do. Shaun had been gone less than a day—locked tightly inside the guardhouse near the cave entrance. There had been screams during the changing of the shifts, but no one knew if it were the two men or someone else being worked upon inside the structure.

  Another of Mette’s shouts echoed through the tunnels. The women had chosen one of the closer abandoned shafts rather than risk going deeper and running into a guard.

  They should have gone deeper into the mine.

  Mette’s pregnancy had been a secret since the day she and Shaun were thrown in the tunnels. Shaun had mentioned they had some difficulties at home and decided to travel to one of the more southern villages, where they were jumped by one of the Stone King’s patrols. These last few weeks—or was it months?—Mette had been completely hidden from the rest of the population, with a small, dedicated group bringing her food and water.