Chapter Three
Plans
Solon moved with the group. The two in front carried poorly constructed iron swords; the leader, armed with a halberd. All in all, they were a sorry bunch of wanderers. The leader of the group was the only one clad in armor. A single, muddy copper pauldron with a short metal protrusion with a hook, from this a lamp hung freely, providing but a little light to the group. As the three moved, one of the swordsdwarfs continued to reel of a piece of rope, counting off every one hundred feet. At the end of that hundred feet, they would drive a pin into the earth, tie off and unreel another length of rope. Calculating how far out they were from the .
Solon looked into the distance for the hole in the ceiling of the caverns. All he could see was the murky darkness. Grunting in the distance alarmed only him. The leader looked back and spoke to him.
“Tis’ only the trogs’, they’re not much hassle on their own, good source of food too. But if you get them in a pack, it’s a decent scrap. Just keep close and keep moving. You’ll be alright.”
Solon nodded and kept following. The casts around his arms made forced him to doubt his fighting capacity. His arms were broken and they would take time to heal.
The silence of the caverns was broken only by scratching and the sequential numbering made by the rope-dwarf. Solon chose to broke it with a probing question.
“So how would one get to the surface?”
The group paused and looked at him, their faces filled with worry. The leader spoke up again.
“There’s a hole in the ceiling. I bet that’s how you got in. Aside from that, not many other ways as I know it.”
“And how did you get down from the hole?”
“Rope. What are you thinking?”
“Nothing.”
“Well you keep thinking nothing more of it. One man goes missing and the rest of us get it in the neck. That clear?”
“Mmmm, perfectly.”
They kept moving in the darkness. Pegging a distance further and further. Finally, after two thousand feet they stopped. The leader looked around and motioned for Solon and the others to gather by him.
“We’ll set to work here. Make a loop around the peg and we’ll measure the distance to the columns.”
He turned to Solon and pointed.
”You, I need the backpack.”
Solon nodded and the golden light and removed the backpack with a little difficulty. He passed it to the leader.
“You never told me your name.”
“Never fully intended to, what’s the point? You get killed and it won’t help you...”
“Than what do you want me to call you?”
“To be honest? Couldn’t care less.”
“Halberd?”
“Whatever.”
Halberd directed the others to walk, Solon decided to sit and watch. He could still take control, but he would need help, he would need people like Halberd and the others. They weren’t strong enough or well equipped to try a direct action but maybe he could get somebody to the surface? There he could get help, bring in the Queen’s military. Solon scratched and was distantly aware of Halberd yelling orders. He’d need evidence that the place was worth saving. He considered getting some adamantine wafers from the mine, but quickly dismissed it. They’d measure and weigh those. He then remembered his sword dug into the tunnel wall, it’d be perfect, plus it would be good to ensure the survival of anyone running.
He kept thinking as the dwarfs came back and went out again. Once the guard got here, then what? The Queen would put somebody of her choice in charge. Solon could see the flaw already, somebody sane would be difficult to over through. He needed a method of ensuring that he would be put in charge.
Solon watched on as the men moved back out, he scratched the back of his neck, the plump helmet rubbing against his arm. He thought about it as his stomach rumbled. He thought it’d be best to keep it with him for now, lest the other see it. A thought occurred to him, if he could procure some of the stashed food, he could use it as leverage to gain support from those without “vision”.
Halberd had set up a collapsible table, setting up the lamp and papers. He scratched away, doing the mathematics on how far each pillar was from the centre point and then from each other. A rough map from a single point, a full day’s effort.
Solon considered how he would get to eliminate Bal. It’d need to be swift and clear, a failure would likely cost many of the lives of those without “vision” and therefore support. He considered who would rightfully take over. He realized that he hadn’t seen a second in command anywhere. He thought it odd.
“Hey Halberd!”
Halberd turned and looked irritated by this interruption. He placed his pen calmly next to the ink and crossed his arms.
“Who’s second in command?”
“Of the squad?”
“No, of the fort. Who takes over if Bal dies?”
“Whadd’ya mean?”
“Well, if the Queen dies, the general of the Old Guard takes over. Doesn’t he?”
“If that general is like the commander, I wouldn’t want him to.”
“No, I don’t think you get it. Who takes control from him?”
“The General? I dunno, I didn’t even know about the General ‘till you mentioned him just then.”
Solon grew annoyed. He closed his eyes and breathed out slowly.
“Look, if Bal died. Who would tell you guys what to do?”
“Bal doesn’t tell us what to do. The commander tells us what to do and the Surgeon tells the medics what to do and the Head Miner tells the miners what to do. I figure you can guess from there who tells the butchers what to do.”
“So there is no-one specific to take command?”
Halberd scratched his head and thought over the problem.
“Guess not.”
Solon smiled, he got the answer he was seeking… eventually.
“Cheers.”
Halberd raised his eyebrows.
“So can I get back to work?”
Solon waved him on.
“Go for it.”
Solon considered this, if anything there would be infighting. No one dwarf would take control, maybe he could wait until the army arrived? Solon shook his head. It wouldn’t do. They would still put somebody in charge. He mulled this over. As he was doing so, a clatter as one of the dwarfs slipped on a stone into a pool below. He screamed for help. Solon stood, careful of his casts. He moved quickly over the earth toward the cries for help, he and the other two were too late. A single, bloody corpse was floating. Several large chunks of chewed flesh floated with him.
Halberd stood and watched the bobbing pieces. He sighed and turned to the other dwarf and held out his own halberd.
“Fish him out, we’ll need proof he didn’t run.”
The other dwarf nodded silently, pulling the various pieces of corpse up out of the pool. Solon came to the conclusion that this was going to be tough.
As the parts were fished out, Halberd began to pack up the maps, ink and pens. He shoved them quickly into the backpack and flipped the table over, folding two of the legs and piling the chunks of the corpse on the underside. He motioned for Solon to grab the backpack and for the other dwarf to pull the improvised sled.
They moved back, following the line of the rope. Solon needed a plan. He needed it soon. He watched as the light bobbed and weaved with each of Halberds footsteps. The light glinting of the pauldron. He realized, he could help the surgeon to take the throne. Without any miners or soldiers to support him, he would be easy to take down. Then with military support he would retake the fort above and mine out the adamantine. Then receive a title, so on and so forth. Simple.
As they approached the gates, soldiers above began pointing and shouting for search crews. Halberd picked up a chunk of gut and pointed at it with a plain face and a single finger. Immediately the search crews were called off. Solon found that disturbing, the value of life was worth nothing. As they entered the gate, a manager moved quickly and quietly to point the corpse towards the surgery as he scratched down that the group had returned with one death. Solon saw an opportunity and grabbed the makeshift sled, the other dwarf didn’t question it. In the light of the fires, Solon noticed for the first tie that his face was bloated beyond distinction. Eye melded into nose melded into mouth.
Solon dragged the sled through the streets. One of the butchers nudged the other and pointed at the corpse. The other nodded and began sharpening a cleaver. His corpulent body covered with his sweat and someone else’s blood. Solon approached the grand white building, its doors were closed and barred, guards were posted on all but a small side door. He entered, a familiar sight met him, the surgery. The surgeon was sitting on a chair watching a patient on a table. As Solon pulled in the corpse the Surgeon turned and watched him in silence. Solon stopped in the center of the long room and waited for a reaction.
“Was there anything else?”
Solon thought quickly, he needed to make the most of this.
“Aren’t you interested in how my arms are going?”
“Two broken arms, one left side compound fracture, the other was a plain and simple in-line break. After setting, sewing and applying plaster, there were no further actions to be taken other than cleaning some of your minor cuts and bruises. Your very lucky, with a surgeon as brilliant as myself, you can drag a sled with an entire corpse in here by yourself with two broken arms. Let’s see you find one better.”
“Of course, it’s remarkable. But surely you would have had nurses help?”
“Do you mean the attendants? No, they pass me things and soon-to-be-corpses that need healing. I wouldn’t bother teaching them if I had to. I'm more than enough to cater for a fortress this size.”
“Oh yes, but somebody has to provide them with leadership.”
“Are you deaf? Did that fall render you retarded? I don’t lead, I work by myself with people simply assisting.”
“So you wouldn’t take command if Bal left? I thought you were one of vision.”
The surgeon tipped his head and looked disgusted at the thought. He remained calm and quiet throughout his tirade.
“One of vision? You have to be kidding me. All you need to be to be one of vision, is willing enough to kiss his arse, even then I get away with avoiding that. No, the reason I exist here, the reason I eat well and the reason I am, as you so crudely put it, one of vision. Is that I am clever, and the best damned surgeon in the empire. The reason I’m here and not back at the mountainhome? Because they wouldn’t amend the possibilities for change to their precious medical textbooks they fail to research properly. Yet does it change anything? No! Here I am, stuck in a mire of stupidity that is the dwarven medical system as those who surround me bundle even the most basic of medicine by being complete idiots. They have no concept of triage, no ideas on the concepts of cauterization. They sit in the mud and the shit, wondering where the infections come from. I left, I left to work on the many corpses and ply my trade as much as possible. And can you find me a better place than this? No, no you can’t. I wouldn’t expect you to so much as be able to read, than to point out another location on a map. So why would I want to take charge? As it is, I get what I ask for, nobody questions me and I get to participate in the research I want. So you can take you take you vision crap and stuff it. Now, get out. I have a dwarf that’s been stuck by a giant cave spider and I’m trying to catalog the symptoms.”
Solon turned quickly and left.
As he walked toward the gates, he considered this failure to be an issue. Without the surgeon taking charge he would have an problem in taking out whoever took the throne. As he walked he pondered this concept. Well aware that he may be stuck for some time.
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Topic: CryptIron (Read 8326 times)