Chapter 47

Day 153-158:

Though John was unmistakably a prisoner, the Legionnaires never tied or locked him up. They appointed two minders, who rotated every day. This meant he couldn’t make friends, since it was never the same two repeated. But it did mean he could interrogate them, subtly of course. None seemed to be operating under any restrictions on their tongues, so he took full advantage.

The unit who captured him occupied a full section of subterranean ‘apartments,’ which emptied out onto the Great Road section that John had been using to depart the Ruby Dragon’s region. John got a small room to himself for sleeping, with a night-shift standing watch outside the doorway until he got up each morning. They fed him from their own kitchen, and the food was better than anything the Enders or the Raiders had ever eaten. He put away as much as they would give, rebuilding his energy after the meager rations he’d managed to beg from the Grimakers who’d already finished their Challenges.

None of the dwarves would say a single negative thing about the Mage King, or even bitch about their time in the military (which every soldier loves to do!) John did learn that it was their entire Legion deployed into the southern Dwarven Clandoms. The unit breakdown was a universally ten-based pyramid: ten men to a File, with a Rank Leader. Ten Files to a Company, with a Centurion, who fought in the first File as the tenth man. Ten Companies made up a Square, which consisted of nine line/infantry Companies, and a tenth with the scouts, flankers and replacement troops. The supervisor of that tenth unit simultaneously served as its Centurion, and as the Square Commander. The well-appointed Dvergyr dwarf John had spoken to when they captured him was a Square Commander named Skarseac. The entire Legion itself had ten Squares, again nine line/infantry units and a tenth ‘support’ or reserve Square. A General, or Lord Commander was the Dwarf-in-Charge, and that luminary reported directly to either the Mage King himself, or an appointed Lord General over the entire Wall Army.

“The Reinforcing Square Commander, he’ll have some recruiting to do when this campaign is over.” One of John’s minders remarked.

Newly inducted troops started their careers in that Tenth, or last Square. They marched last in line always, and did all the crappy jobs nobody liked. Eventually, one of the other Commanders would tap the soldier to move into that Square’s Tenth Company. Once he’d proven himself, a dwarf would take an opening in one of the line Companies, slowly pushing forward as needed into the first three, ‘front line’ Companies. New Rank Leaders were always promoted from the most senior veterans in that front line. This ensured that the Legion command structure consisted of successful, experienced soldiers who’d served in nearly every aspect of the unit.

The level of military professionalism exhibited by everyone he met left John with a high opinion of their capability. From what John gleaned, the Legion was strung out holding a lengthy section of the Great Road open for the Mage King. Historically, various Dvergyr and Dwimar clans had exercised control over the Road, demanding tolls and taxes from anyone else wishing to use it. The first time King Morgan tried to make his way south, he’d been stymied by an unbending refusal to grant him any exemption from the payments.

“The King and his Comrades killed most of the first Clan, but ol’ Morgan the Mage he’s smart. He wasn’t about to get himself surrounded down here. Even he would have a hard time getting through all that.” Another guard explained.

Ten years of peaceful negotiation afterward yielded a Right of Passage from nearly every clan along the Road. And then a clan chief died, with his replacement refusing to honor the previous one’s deal. The Mage King’s patience ran out after that. Once the Dwarven Legion’s campaign to reduce Citadel Crossroads was finished, and the Legion General, a Powry named Nuddug (the Bloody Hammer, isn’t that an encouraging nickname?) judged that his recruiting and retraining was complete, Morgan had ordered the unit south.

The clans that made up the southern Dwarven Clandoms had waged a bitter close-quarters battle against the Legion. Though constantly at odds with each other, every clan agreed that the Legion was their common enemy. Unfortunately for them, their refusal to put aside historic differences and truly coordinate efforts left them wide open against the Legion’s well-drilled tactics, superior training and unified command. The initial campaign only lasted two months, barely long enough for the Legion to fortify the length of the Road. Now that they’d secured its length, Nuddug kept two line Squares plus the Tenth as a mobile reserve. Any major clan assaults were met with overwhelming resistance and an immediate counterattack.

After being rebuffed when he made overtures to Skarseac, John took to taking walks up and down the Road within this Square’s span of control. It was on one of those dimly-lit strolls that he found out their soldierly quality didn’t keep them from also being utterly ruthless. Skarseac marched past him with two full Companies in tow. After flattening himself against the wall and letting them pass, John trailed curiously.

The Commander deployed the two Companies as one large formation, just as he had when John showed up. Twenty dwarves wide, ten files deep they filled the tunnel from wall to wall. Just as before, Skarseac stood in front, awaiting whoever approached. John could barely See beyond the mass of soldiers, even with his height. A large section of the dragon’s golems appeared out of the gloom, and formed a rank facing the dwarves. From behind them, Orisal stepped into view, looking significantly more ragged than when John had last put an eye on him.

John held his breath. He had a bad feeling about this.

“You come from Challenging the Ruby Dragon?” Skarseac asked Orisal.

“We do.” Orisal replied stiffly. “What do you intend?”

“The King offers passage to any who swear not to attack the Legion while we hold the Road.” Skarseac offered. “Will you give your oath?”

Orisal sighed deeply, thinking for a long moment.

“I will.” He finally ground out.

Skarseac made no move until Orisal actually swore.

“I will not attack the Legion while you hold the Road. My clan will abide by my oath on this.”

“Very well.” Skarseac acknowledged. “You may proceed.”

He waved the Dvergyr Warclan through, exactly as he had with John. Orisal lead the way once the troops cleared a narrow lane. John stepped up to greet him, but his guards grabbed both arms and pulled him back.

“Do nothing.” One hissed in his ear.

“But I’m just going to say hello. I know him.” John protested. “I won’t do anything!”

But their fingers tightened even more, and they shook their heads grimly.

That’s when John’s sensitive ears picked up the sound of feet. Lots of feet stepping in sync, coming their way from behind.

“No.” John breathed.

“Do. Nothing.” The guard repeated urgently.

“Oh, hell no!” John called up his armor’s strength and yanked free of their hands.

“Orisal! It’s a trap!” He yelled, darting forward.

The Chief was just clearing the Legion ranks when he paused to make out John’s announcement. Unfortunately, it was as though John himself had given the signal. The heavier armored, better trained troops squashed the strung out Warclan between them. Shields rammed and blades snaked out to find vulnerable throats, eyes or chests. Some of the Grimakers had passed the third level and taken Gyor’nych’s power, because fire bloomed in several places.

John himself reached Orisal just in time to see dwarves closest to the walls swing out and pincer the Chief from both sides. The older Dvergyr roared a battle-cry and stabbed a sword that would’ve looked more natural in Sygraid’s hands right through two Legionnaires. The blade pierced both shield and armor with ease, dropping both in place.

John tried to intercept the soldiers attacking from the other side, but he was moments too late. One weapon hamstrung the Chief, while another hammered Orisal’s exposed spine. The Dvergyr collapsed to the ground in a heap, blood pouring from his neck. John cut through both dwarves, severing one’s arm at the elbow and punching the Cleaver through the other’s throat. He leaped their falling bodies and laid into the Legionnaires beyond.

That rank turned in unison, presenting a shield wall with little exposed beyond eyes under their helmets. The Tooth spat cold-fire, cracking and weakening any shield she struck. His strength made no headway in pushing the soldiers back. Dwarven blades darted out, forcing him to parry and dance back. Then his minders hit from behind. He heard them approaching, but couldn’t get turned around in time. These carried iron-banded truncheons, which they used to devastating effect.

Ordering the formation dwarves to hold off, they quickly attacked both of his arms, making him drop his weapons involuntarily. He felt something in his wrist, or hand break as he dodged to slip past them. Both Cleaver and Tooth were enchanted, and he didn’t have time to recover them anyway. John almost made it by, but a swing he couldn’t see hit behind his knee, tripping him painfully.

His newly-advanced agility saved him from face planting, but that only meant the other guard had time to aim for his head. The other dwarf guard’s club hit the back of his skull like a major-league bat swinging for the fences. Stars exploded in his vision and this time he did go down. A follow up strike to his kidney made him flinch and wiggle away. Two more hammer-blows to his back convinced him to curl up.

Kicks and blunt objects rained down on him for a long while. Eventually he heard (barely) Skarseac order them to stop. The Commander’s boot nudged his nose.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” He remarked casually.

“F-f-f-uck, yo-u-u!” John spat.

Skarseac snorted. “I may not speak your language, Fey Nord, but I do know what you say.”

The Commander’s next words were in another language. Rough hands grabbed and searched him, removing his armor and equipment. They dragged him back down the Road and unceremoniously dumped him in a cell. A real one, with a locking metal door. He crawled to the small, bare shelf inside and heaved himself onto it.

They left him there for several hours before the door opened and dwarves flooded the tiny space. No one said a word, but they quickly, brutally rolled him over and yanked his hands behind his back. Iron manacles were locked down over his wrists, and another set confined his ankles. More punches and kicks assaulted him, so he rolled back over and curled his legs up for protection.

They stepped back, trickling out of the room. The last one to leave was one of his minders for that day.

“You shouldn’a done that.” The dwarf warned him before turning away.

“Fuck. You.” John ground out around a mouthful of blood.

The guard ignored him and the door boomed shut after he left.

Day 154:

They shoved a bowl with some goopy gruel though the door sometime the next day. He knew it had been a day because his armor and weapons returned. When he begged for them to loosen the now-painfully tight leg irons that were pinching his boot-clad feet, their response was a demand that he turn over his weapons.

“We will give you food after you do.” The guards promised.

They actually kept their word with regard to a meal, but laughed at his renewed request for the ankle manacles. John’s left hand screamed in agony as he worked his hands to the front so he could eat. He scooped what he could with his fingers, then slurped the rest. After waiting for a while to see if it had been poisoned, he decided the upset gurgle in his stomach was due to a lack of calories and not lacing it with something toxic.

He tried to bend the metal wrapped around his ankles, but his left hand wouldn’t cooperate. So, he slowly inched the boots off, millimeter by millimeter. It took him most of the day, but so long as they were in his possession he didn’t have to worry about them reappearing on his legs. He sighed in relief once they were clear, then pulled them back on and rolled the top down so he’d have some foot protection whenever they came for him.

“Well, shit.” He muttered to himself, sitting painfully against the wall. “Now what the fuck are you going to do?”

Day 155-168:

Every morning the guards would demand he surrender his weapons before feeding him. John didn’t really have a way to use them to his benefit, so it wasn’t worth resisting. They saw where his hands were, and that he’d freed his boots, but didn’t make an issue of it. So long as he was weaponless, they were content to leave him be.

It was the morning of his fifth day of incarceration that the routine changed. They took his weapons, and fed him as usual, but an hour later the guard spoke through the door.

“Stand up and turn away.” The voice ordered.

Sighing, John did as instructed. There wasn’t much point in disobeying. He needed an edge to get free. His only chance right now was to lull his captors into believing he was broken. Unkind hands pinned his arms to his sides after the door squeaked open. An iron collar was lowered and locked around his neck. He felt a tug which choked him.

“That was a warning.” One of the guards explained. “You do what I tell you, or I’ll put you on the ground. You get me?”

John nodded, coughing.

“Good. C’mon.” Another, slightly less vigorous tug accented the order.

A brace of guards marched him down the Road. They forced him to use a brisk shuffle-step to keep up with their pace. After over a mile, John was blessing the Ruby Dragon for his boots.

He was yanked to a halt outside another Legion-occupied living warren. The King’s ugly giant stood guard along with four dwarven soldiers around the entry. The huge figure’s bare chest and shoulders were now covered by an intricate dragon-themed tattoo. Since he was close enough, John could see that the man’s head tattoos were of a similar style. He wondered what kind of reward that signaled. Through the opening, he could hear the King talking with Skarseac and someone else inside.

“ ... ready to move, once you give the order, your Majesty.” Skarseac finished.

“Excellent work, Commander.” The King said. “Detach a non-frontline company and have them track down the remaining Dwarves. Leave none alive.”

“Yes, your Majesty!” Skarseac barked.

“The Tenth Square will assume custody of the prisoner.” An unknown male voice declared. “You are relieved of responsibility for him. Return to your troops and await the order.”

“As you command, General.” Skarseac replied.

The Commander exited a few seconds later. He brushed by John and his guards without a glance.

“Kertug,” the King’s voice raised, “bring him in.”

The ugly giant stepped behind John. A hard, insistent pull forced his head back. Kertug glared down at him.

“Enter, and kneel.” The ‘or else’ was unnecessary.

A shove sent him into the doorway. Inside were the King, wearing pristine armored robes, a swarthy, dark-haired Dwarf with the most ornate Legion armor John had seen yet, and a third figure, the small black-robed figure who’d been trailing the King. This last person’s hands stayed tucked inside their opposite arm sleeve, and John still couldn’t make out any features. Not even a gender.

He paused a hair too long, and Kertug’s boot caught the back of his still-sore knee. He dropped to his knees, wincing at the unyielding stone floor. The trio turned to him with unfriendly expressions.

The King’s voice was mild. “I warned you not to raise a hand against me, or mine.”

“Your troops offered safe passage.” John coughed out. “Then ambushed the others dishonorably. Is that how you do things, in your kingdom?”

Morgan laughed. “Dishonorably? You are a fool!”

The King turned serious. “I care only that my officers do what is necessary! And don’t needlessly waste lives. Skarseac did both, to his credit. The Grimaker Warclan refused my offer to become an ally. Those who will not stand with us,”

“Stand against us!” The ornately armored Dwarf, who John assumed was General Nuddug, completed.

The King smirked at John. “My General speaks correctly. As for you, what am I to do with you?”

John waited silently. If they were going to kill him, so be it. If not, he’d keep his eyes and ears open.

“No vigorous defense?” The King taunted. “No protestations of innocence? I see that you’re a warrior, like my Left Arm there is. You know I hold your life in my hand, but death has no hold over you. Even though you killed two of my soldiers, I would still be willing to enter you into my service. The rewards would be far less than what I would’ve given had you come voluntarily, but if you can convince me that you’ve changed your mind, I will consider freeing you.”

John studied the King for a moment.

It’s a trap. He decided.

I will come! We will slay him! The Tooth announced eagerly.

No, stay where you are. You’ll know when the time is right. John ordered.

A frustrated growl sounded inside his head.

“I haven’t changed my mind.” John replied to the King. “If keeping their word is meaningless to your troops, I know yours is equally valued.”

A blow to the back of his head knocked him sprawling.

“You know nothing.” The King said icily. “I have been a King long enough to see generations of my subjects be born, and die of old age. Honor is a worthless concept. A person shows his worth by the actions he performs, not the sounds that come from his lips. Those Dvergyr you sought to aid, they took full advantage of my Legion’s attack to make their own way for a Challenge. They left their fellow clans to fight me so that they could have a chance at power. My own soldiers died so that they might have an easy trek. Such a debt must be repaid in blood. Our code demands it.”

“Whoever announces their honor or dishonor the loudest, they are the least useful when needed.” Nuddug parroted.

The King nodded approvingly. “Just so. We will see if your precious honor keeps you warm at night, and your belly from crying out in hunger.”

The King looked up at Kertug. “He marches with the Tail of the Tenth. Tell Luzaes I will be displeased if the prisoner is not available to face my wrath upon our return to the palace.”

“As you command, my King.” Kertug saluted.

The chain linked to his collar went taut as the King’s Left Arm dragged him out the door. A heavy toe jabbed his kidney sharply.

“Get up!” Kertug ordered.

John managed to regain his feet before he caught another blow.

The giant waved over a squad who waited across the tunnel. He tossed the chain to one of them.

“He marches with the Tail.” Kertug passed on. “Relay the King’s word to your Commander. If the prisoner does not make it back to the palace, the King will be displeased.”

“I will tell him.” One saluted.

The others surrounded him, and marched him farther down the Road.

Luzaes turned out to be a cruel Powry who could’ve passed for General Nuddug’s twin. They’d already given John’s weapons to him, and the Commander delighted in testing their ‘edge’ on John’s appendages. One day it would be an ear. On another it would be John’s arm. Never enough to make him bleed out, but painful and debilitating all the same. The guards who watched him constantly were young, eager to please their Commander. They took pleasure in finding other ways to make the march difficult.

Watch changes always stepped on him. Shield edges, fists and elbows found him an unmissable target. They spit in his food before handing it to him. The practice of forcing him to turn over his weapons every morning prior to eating continued, accompanied by viciously derogatory comments.

Shuffle-jogging all day on a minimal diet wore deeply on John, even with his boots’ enchantment. The Legion collapsed its position behind him as they withdrew along the Road. Lines of troops sped by as Companies and Squares departed their fortifications and formed up ahead of them. The King and his coterie stayed at the head of the column, so John saw nothing other than Dwarven soldiers for days on end.

Days of mulling over whether taking his moral stand here and now had been monumentally stupid, or something he couldn’t have lived with himself for letting happen. No matter how he sliced it, his conscience would no longer tolerate overlooking the callous, casually evil brutality he kept running up against. He had no desire to be Don Quixote, forever tilting at the windmills of slavery, butchery and barbarism, but if he was going to keep his sanity in this world, he needed to stay true to what he believed from this point forward.

If only he could stay alive to make a difference.

Day 161:

Veronyka finally spotted John’s Raider ship anchored on the northwest side of the island Svend had proposed for their link-up point. The Explorer displayed skepticism when she told him what John had mentioned regarding the status of Final Harbor. But Sygraid and Hal had weighed in on her behalf, identifying her as a long-time companion to their leader, and insisting she could be trusted.

A not-insignificant fishing village occupied the other end of the island, one of the few that Svend knew for sure contained a funeral stone. Her plan had been to use that for a quick return, since she stopped off to register that one on her way north. When she couldn’t find any others after they left Joryndarfil, she and Ream’ch had to fly all the way back. Hoping she wasn’t too late, she circled the area from high up, zooming in to make sure it was John and the others. And checking to see if they were under duress.

The only thing she could make out was Sygraid (who looked much taller than Veronyka remembered) and the healer visibly arguing with Svend and another Raider she didn’t know. Wondering where the others were, she found a deserted spot around the corner from their anchorage and had Ream’ch land. She tucked her mount’s miniaturized form into her pouch and trekked along the shore.

It was Colonel Mason who found her first. A tossed pebble hit her feet when she failed to hear him calling to her over the waves. Jumping, she dodged to the side and yanked out her Spike. A smirking Spooky gave her a preemptory come-here motion.

“Hey Colonel.” She greeted, jogging up to him just inside the tree line.

“Spooky.” He reminded her pointedly.

“Right. Spooky.” She gulped.

“It’s good that you’re here, doc.” Spooky told her. “Things are about to go to shit.”

“What? Why?” She looked around.

“Cause John’s gone missing.” Spooky announced. “C’mon.”

She tagged after him, “what do you mean: ‘John’s gone missing’? Where did he go? How long?”

Spooky struggled to explain. “We ... ah, no, can’t say that, um ... okay, here: the dragon said he sent John quote ‘somewhere else as a life lesson’ slash punishment after John finished the Challenge. I say after, because I assume if it was during, she’d’ve just eaten him. Wouldn’t tell us precisely, or even vaguely where, only that it’s not a place he’s been before, and there’s no way back. At a guess, it was through the portal, since she did hint it was still on this planet.”