Chapter 1 (part 1)

Just setting this stuff into parts so it's easier to read on the quick. Here's portion number 1.

Mines


“Slop’s up scum!”
Madrokai stretched his tired limbs. Hardly even three hours sleep tonight. Swore it was more last week. ‘How can they keep working us like this?’ He thought to himself.
“I said slop’s up filth!” yelled the foreman, delivering a swift kick into Mad’s ribs, “Now get up before I send you to the superior.”
Mad winced as he tried to stand. The combination of not much sleep, terrible food and being beaten raw almost every day wasn’t helping him much, but he’d rather get up now than be sent to the superior. Some of the things he’d heard went on there weren’t worth the extra ten seconds of rest. Though, most of the things he had to put up with in his life weren’t worth a lot. Life as a slave wasn’t really much of a life at all.
He forced himself past his foreman, Lyle. Bastard if he’d ever met one. He had thought no one could be that mean spirited; he was wrong. He might’ve been Mad’s foreman, but he was by no means a big man. Very short, with wiry hair and a lean, rat like face. Suffering from being bullied a lot in his youth Mad assumed, though didn’t help him much now. Lyle wasn’t to be argued with by any of the slaves. Last time someone had tried he got beat to an inch of his life. He wasn’t here anymore. If you can’t mine you’re not worth your salt. Can’t even remember why he got beat now? Probably just asked for some water, knowing Lyle. Bastard.
Mad trudged out of the sleeping quarters after the rest of the slaves. He didn’t even think of them as miners any more. If they were miners they’d have some liberties. They’d be paid too. Outside the sun had barely even come up, still quite dark as it’d only get really light at midday, when the sun came up over the peaks, though Mad wouldn’t see that. He’d be underground when any sort of light made it into the prison. Underground in the mines, hacking away at the rock to find the iron buried within. Iron that they were mining for weapons for the army the high king was building in Ranril. He called himself a king, but really he was nothing more than the son of another baron who thought himself higher than his position. Yet another man who thought he could tame the clans and unite the land. Must admit though, he’d done better than many of the others.
“Mornin’ Mad. Nice day, what?” It was Moril, another one of the slaves. He was one of the few in Madrokai’s group who hadn’t quite resigned himself to death yet. He’d been here longer than Mad by a few months apparently. Used to be a thief down in Erith or maybe Terith, Mad couldn’t remember. He’d been brought to the high king’s court in Ranril and sent here to mine after a short stint in the king’s jail. Why did the bugger have to be so happy all the damn time though?
“Aye, could call it nice. That’d be apart from the fact that we’re eating shit from the hand of the high lord bastard himself and being condemned to his mines to dig for as long as he sees fit.”
Moril’s smile faded. “No need to put such a damper on it.” He looked gaunt, face a slight grey tint to it, probably from malnutrition, and his blue eyes were sunken with dark bags under them. His smile returned, making him look even more drawn. “Then again, might be shit but at least they feed us.”
Mad smiled. Moril could always make the best out of anything. Suppose that was why Mad liked him. He never seemed to give up, even when he’d been beaten, starved, imprisoned, beaten again, taken to the superior and thrown back into his bed unconscious, he’d always get back up with that crooked grin and go back to it. Must’ve been crazy, though then, working here didn’t exactly leave you the same as you were. The line trudged slowly on, moving closer to the cooks. The word cook is a loose term. They weren’t much more than criminals themselves, just given a cauldron and some oats to try and maybe make something edible with. Most of the time they failed. “Yeah, at least we get fed.”


“Come on scum! You’ve had more than enough time to eat. Get your arses in gear!” Mad hated that voice. Lyle’s damn whining, rat squeal of a voice, barking over them, as if he thought he was better. But then again, here he was better. Here Lyle was as good as the king himself. Everyone has to bow and scrape, be humble and submissive before him, laugh at his jokes and thank him for the beatings they get. Well, no use thinking bad on it. It had been Mad’s own stupid fault getting himself here and he wasn’t going to get back whining about it. He had to wait out his opportunity to get out, his chance to escape and be away, back home across the sea.
But there was the point again. There never was a chance. They were under constant guard, chained together, fed just enough to keep them working, but nowhere near enough to help them survive out in the cold for more than a few hours. It was one of those situations that was impossible to get out of. And Mad was thinking he should stop being quite so optimistic about escape and resign himself to death, like the majority of his companions.
Just then he was jerked by his neck as the slave next to him stood up, forcing Mad to get to his feet to prevent him from being dragged away by the throat. He was up and the column was moving toward the mine at the usual slow, sludgy pace they were submitted to. He spent this time, his only time outside, always looking at the surrounding buildings, checking guard routines, hoping to work out the changes in shifts. Unfortunately time seemed to shift together here. He never got enough sleep to stay quite focused enough to take in any details, and he never got quite enough food to keep his mind active enough to remember anything. He felt his life spiralling into an abyss as he walked into the mouth of the mine, another day in the choking dark.


“Lights out scum!!”
He was back in the worker’s quarters with the rest of the slaves. Thirty six of them to a room and only twelve beds between them. Mad spent every night in one of the corners, the one furthest from the door. Moril was fighting over who got to sleep in the bed tonight with three other slaves. Most of the others had been taken by now, mainly by the elderly or the ones who weren’t coping as well. Most of those would be dead in the next week. They all seemed to drop, but were soon replaced by others, so you barely noticed them coming and going. Moril was one of the few who were here when Mad had first come a few months back. Other than him there was a young lad named Dan, too young for a beard, a middle aged fellow called Denil who couldn’t speak, or maybe just wouldn’t, and a man a bit older than Denil named Fardulas. He was apparently a noble from somewhere in another land, here to broker some sort of trade agreement and had been arrested for a reason that he wouldn’t elaborate on. He didn’t talk much either, though a lot more than Denil.
The lights went out, only a little showing from the windows at the top of the walls, too high to see outside, only serving to let light in during the day. Why they bothered was a mystery to Mad, seeing as no one was here during the day. The quarters were otherwise completely bare apart from the beds on the floor. Well, not beds really. More just a blanket on the floor with a thin mattress beneath it. Most of the time in here everyone just spent the time arguing who will be allowed to sleep under it tonight and who gets the floor. Mad thought they did it more for something to break the monotony of the endless digging and breaking rocks.
Now was the wait. Either try to get to sleep with the rest of them, or try to find a way to escape. Mad already knew the latter wasn’t worth the effort. Not now at least. He’d tried every night since getting here and all he’d earned were beatings. He settled himself back into the corner of the building, trying to get some mild form of comfort out of the hard wood. He was exhausted but knew sleep would be a long time coming. Images floated through his head when it got to the night, time to sleep. For Mad, it was time to remember how he got here, how he could have avoided it, died trying.
Coming to Tenil was a bad idea. Going to Ranril was an even worse idea. And getting drunk there was quite possibly the stupidest thing he’d done in his life. Madrokai had come from his home in Herfuer, across mountains and the great northern sea to the fabled northern land of Tenil. Still a wild land of tribes and beasts, this was the perfect place to seek his fortune. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as wild as he’d been made to believe. Or, perhaps it was wilder, given what he’d found. A warrior calling himself king of the so called civilized lands of Tenil. Almost as bad as the crazy bastard they had down in Smorain a few years back. If this escalates to that kind of state it’ll be terrible. That Calvados fellow was crazy, but he’s got nothing on Nalenbet. The self styled king is a damn tyrant. Enslaving anyone who doesn’t agree with him and pressing them into the mines for his little war.
Mad thought about home then. How would his sister be faring without him there? They’d had enough trouble with ardent admirers then, but without him there for any length of time? He hoped his father would come back again and help her to keep the estates up and running. And he wondered what had happened to his brother in the army? At least Smorain wouldn’t be moving anywhere for a time as long as Candor was controlling them, but still, the region was unstable at the moment and anything could happen. Madrokai regretted ever leaving. ‘I should’ve just accepted my lot in life and never tried to better myself.’ He settled down to get some sleep, closing his eyes and trying not to hear the snores of the rest of the room’s sleeping bodies. Another busy day in the mines awaited them all.


“Get up you lazy scum! Get up!”
Groaning, Mad got to his feet. He felt surprisingly more alert than usual, and after last night’s musing, surprisingly upbeat. He joined the throng as they stepped over the still sleeping bodies and moved on toward the door, out into a somewhat brisk morning. They got in line to the cook’s pots again for their breakfast of gruel and hard biscuit, being chained as they got their food, all the while to the roars of Lyle’s underling Jing, Lyle nowhere to be seen. Obviously having a sly bit of time off, while his pupil in the art of bastardism woke up the rest of the slaves.
“I said get up you lazy bums! I will not tell you again,” Jing could be heard yelling from inside Mad’s quarters. A few thumps were heard, presumably Jing kicking those still sleeping. One man came out, a slim fellow by the name of Yrus, rubbing his ribs. Lyle must’ve shown Jing how to do that just right too. Bastard. Then Jing came outside. “We’ve got two more dead in here sir!” He shouted in that strange accent he had. Every g pronounced as a kh, and never saying an r. Mad looked around. Indeed there were two men missing. He looked across the gathered slaves in turn, chained together and eating their slop. He couldn’t tell who wasn’t there, then it dawned on him little Dan was nowhere among them. How he hated to see the young ones go. For the elderly it wasn’t as bad, they’d lived a full life and while dying here…in this place, wasn’t an ideal death, at least they’d had some time spent in the world. Mad doubted if young Dan had ever felt the tender touch of a woman. Or the not so tender as he‘d been more prone to prefer. They’d get more slaves in now. Probably be a couple of days, but true enough they would. At least it’d help those who wanted a bed.
Lyle came storming out of the superior’s office, which was a large building set on the second floor with the stairs outside, huge iron railings to stop one from falling. By the looks of things Lyle wasn’t happy. “Right scum. Jing is your foreman from now on,” with that he left. Not another word, but he went into the arms of two of the camp soldiers, who seemed more to be guarding him than escorting. ‘Good,’ thought Mad. ‘Hope they hang him.’