“Keep them all back!” he commanded his talon. “Wound them only if you’ve no recourse. The priests have enough to do and will not minister to any slaves you whip too harshly. I want no more dead or incapacitated slaves if I can help it. We simply cannot afford that right now. I don’t know how long it will take to replace the ones who died in the mines.”
The wizard stared thirstily at the water then motioned to a trio of laborers, each man toting ropes and buckets. “Set a perimeter of stones around this … Blessed Salvation. Then start filling jugs and take the first to the priests. The injured need water for drinking and bathing. And our dead brethren not yet buried need to be cleansed.”
“The horses?” That question came from the stablemaster. “They need water too, else we will have animals to burn along with the dead slaves before the next morning. The horses desperately need water, as much as the priests.”
Grallik kept his tone civil because the stablemaster was not a knight and, therefore, not expected to understand protocol. Still, the man needed to be put in his place. “The men come first, Hiram. You’ll make no demands on me for the beasts. But I appreciate your concern. After enough water has been drawn for the injured and for all the knights here, you may take as much as you need for the livestock and the laborers.”
The wizard turned to see a big, one-eared hobgoblin approaching. “And you will have some water for your fellows …” Grallik could not remember the name of the one-eared foreman, though he’d seen him often enough. He never could remember the name of any goblin. “But you must be patient.”
The hobgoblin clearly heard the wizard say the livestock and laborers would get water soon enough. Even the horses came before the slaves. The goats and chickens-they, too, ranked above the slaves. The hobgoblin clenched his fists, claws digging into the palms of his hands and drawing blood.
“Yes, sir,” the hobgoblin said, giving a slight bow to Grallik. “The slaves last, sir. The slaves are always last.”
Direfang volunteered to help put stones around the well, both so he could be near the welcome water and so he could overhear the Dark Knights’ talk. Listening was how he had learned their language and how he came to know all of their precious methods and rules. He’d hovered around them, listening and watching, paying close attention, for years and years. And because they found him useful and obedient, they generally paid no attention to him.
“I’ll not have the slave shifts working continuously, Marek. I need all the Dark Knights in the camp at night, not any in the mine.”
“Guardian? But there are still four knights unaccounted for.”
“We have many brothers injured, and it will be days before more Lily Knights are sent here from Jelek or Neraka. Days, a few weeks most likely. We don’t have enough healthy men to patrol Steel Town at night and supervise the slaves in the mine. The darkness hides much, Marek, and so we need to patrol the slave pens as a precaution. The wards, you know …” Grallik steepled his fingers under his chin and lowered his voice, shifting back and forth on the balls of his booted feet. “Many of them are down, useless. We can’t afford to lose any more slaves than we’ve already lost to that damnable earthquake. With all this chaos, and with all our wounded brothers, they might be tempted to try and escape.”
“I understand, Guardian.”
“But soon, when more knights are dispatched here, either I or Marshal Montrill will set the mine in continuous operation again. You can be sure of that. We must make sure all the shafts are clear and drill a new shaft near where the veins are thickest. In the meantime, we will send an envoy to the ogre chieftain and arrange to purchase more slaves.”
The Dark Knight bowed perfunctorily. “Your dinner, Guardian? Shall I bring you something to eat, or will you …”
“I will be eating with the wounded tonight, Marek, if I eat at all. And first I want to safeguard this well. Send Trelane and his brother …”
“Ostan, Guardian.”
“Send Trelane and Ostan to guard this well when they’ve finished their meal. Then send another knight to start the dead slaves to burning. I’ve got more important things to see to this evening than roasting goblin corpses.”
“Yes, Guardian.” Marek pivoted, strode toward the laborers gathering pots and flasks for water, spoke quickly to one man, then continued on toward the Dark Knight burial detail.
The torches and lanterns that illuminated Steel Town flickered in the wind, chasing shadows across ruined buildings and laborers huddled under makeshift roofs with their families. The wind moaned softly, mimicking the sounds of the wounded and accompanying a woman softly crying.
Grallik stared numbly at the camp, his gaze flitting to the tavern owner and his wife, clinging to each other pathetically, then moving on to a knight limping toward the stable. “In a blessed several more days, everything will be operating again in hellish Steel Town,” the wizard mused aloud, unaware that the hobgoblin foreman was still close by and listening. “Marshal Montrill will have his command back, and perhaps I will obtain leave to go to Neraka for supplies. For a while there will be tents, just as in the beginning of this place. Tents upon tents, from one end of chaos to the other.”
When his work stacking rocks around the well was done, Direfang returned to the slave pens without being allowed a drink.
“No one has helped Moon-eye’s Heart.” Moon-eye stared at Direfang accusingly. The goblin continued to hover over his mate, alternating between gently touching her stomach and blowing to keep the gnats away from her crusted eyes.
“The skull men still tend to the knights,” Direfang said with a deep sigh, studying Graytoes’ legs. “Not so bad as yesterday. Swelling is down. Perhaps Graytoes’ legs are not broken after all.”
The hobgoblin knelt down next to Graytoes and gingerly felt her legs. He watched her face, looking for a reaction. Direfang had learned a little about administering to the sick, again from watching how the Dark Knights did it. She didn’t grimace very much when he increased the pressure.
“No, not broken,” Direfang pronounced happily. “So Graytoes should lay quiet and rest as long as the Dark Knights allow.” The hobgoblin frowned at his own words because he was already making a plan to get all of the slaves moving-as many as would dare come with him later that very night. “Graytoes should rest. Good time to rest.”
Moon-eye continued to fret. “Not broken, really?”
“No, not broken.” Direfang’s breath whistled out between his teeth, showing his irritation at having to repeat himself.
“Baby not broken?” Moon-eye put his ear to Graytoes’ stomach. “First baby.”
Direfang regarded the pair for a few moments then lowered his voice. “The baby of Moon-eye and Graytoes is not broken. And the baby does not have to be born a slave.”
Moon-eye gasped, pulling his chin close to his neck. “Moon-eye slave, Graytoes slave, first baby slave. Moon-eye slave since …” He paused and rubbed at his chin, trying to remember just how many years had passed since he’d been a slave and how many years he’d lived in Steel Town. “Slave since …”
“Slave since the ogres of the Blood-Claw Chieftain swept into the village,” Direfang said, pointing to himself. “Slave since childhood. Slave since fifteen years come the next Dry-Heat.” Direfang used the dwarf term for the height of summer, another expression he’d picked up by listening to the people who weren’t slaves in Steel Town. “Here since fifteen years come the next Dry-Heat. Fifteen bad years.”
The hobgoblin sucked in a deep breath and looked away from the couple. Despite the loss of goblins to the quake, the pens had never before seemed so crowded. Without any shift operating in the mines, all the slaves were gathered there in camp. The awful smell and noise were disconcerting. The breathing, wheezing, snorting-there was no escaping the noise of so many. The pop and hiss of fire was added to the din. The Dark Knights had started burning more goblin corpses.