《Dorbin》


 Chapter One - Deep Rubies

    It was hot in the deepest pits. Hot magma flowed through the earth in twisting rivers, and the caves carved around them absorbed their heat.


    The gods had likely never intended for anyone to ever see these caverns, and yet they had found their way there because the gemstones that grew around the magma veins were extremely useful to the wizards that slung their spells around on the surface. A single Deep Ruby could provide the magical energy required to raze an entire city, and there were so many of them here.


    The only issue was that there were few who could survive here for long. As a result, no-one would ever choose to mine here, not when they had their slaves to do it for them.


    Dorbin Featherbeard tried to take steady breaths on air that burned his throat. He gathered his strength and swung his pickaxe into the stone wall. He unearthed some kind of gas pocket that spewed a noxious order in his face, and he held his breath and clasped a hand over his mouth and nose. He had seen too many times what happened to the men who breathed these gases.


    He stepped back and leant on his pickaxe. No-one came to scream at him, which he supposed might be the mercy of this prison. Why would anyone use slave drivers, when every slave in the caverns understood the rules.


    Anyone who returned to the entrance of the pits without a Deep Ruby in hand would be executed on the spot. No-one cared how long it took, but the only relief from the heat would come from delivering one. A Deep Ruby would buy Dorbin twelve hours of relief.


    He swung his pickaxe again. He had been here nearly eight hours and knew that he would collapse soon. Others had already found their daily gem here, and there were only a few left at this time. Soon the doors would open and more would descend.


    ¡°Adamin, give me strength,¡± he muttered. The words hurt to say, the movement of his dry lips cracking them. He wondered if the god he spoke to, the dwarven lord of the mines, could hear him. Even the dwarves never delved this deep.


    He swung his pickaxe again. The stone crumbled, and he saw it. A fist sized ruby, which gave off a faint glow. Its centre seemed to contain a lit flame, which cast a light onto Dorbin¡¯s sweat-soaked face.


    ¡°Aha,¡± he whispered. He set down the pickaxe and went at it with the chisel, and a few minutes later the Deep Ruby was in his hands. ¡°Thank you, Adamin.¡±


    He gave thanks to the god and turned to walk back to the entrance of the caverns. It was a three mile walk from the lowest reaches of the caves to the lift that would take him to the surface. The longer the war continued, the deeper miners like him were forced to go.


    Dorbin had never been a soldier. Like many, he had been a victim of place and time, being caught up in the expansion of the two kingdoms that eventually ran into one another. At first the smaller towns and villages like his had been allowed to continue existing, but as their new governors decided that they needed more men in their mines, or for their machines of war, they started to take people from their homes.


    The steep slope and the heat threatened to drive all the remaining strength out of Dorbin, but he was tough. His short legs were made to climb over stone, though his family had long been out of the mining business. It was pigeons where his family had found their money. There was a day long ago when anyone who wanted to send a message to anywhere on the continent would find their nearest Featherbeard house.


    Of course, all of Dorbin¡¯s birds were long gone, released or dead he never knew. The feathers in his beard, once a symbol of his family, were a distant memory. And his hands had not touched something so soft as a pigeon in what felt like an age.


    The lift shaft came into view. It was a solid steel thing, some mix of engineering styles from all over ¨C Dorbin recognised the dwarven pattern of the way the steel plates were layered on top of each other, but everything else could be any style. Were those levers gnomish? Human? Goblin? Elvish?


    The guard at the door to the lift saw him coming, and his hand went to his sword. These guards changed every two hours, and they got plenty of water, but Dorbin knew better than to protest the injustice.


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    He held up his Deep Ruby. The guard grunted. ¡°Two more,¡± he said.


    Dorbin nodded. He would have to wait until two more slaves were ready, which could be any amount of time. At the very least he could sit down while he waited, and the heat wasn¡¯t quite as intense as it was further down.


    There were others waiting for the lift. Dorbin recognised them, of course ¨C there were only so many slaves, and the cages where they slept were kept close to one another. They didn¡¯t bother speaking to one another. Words were heavy.


    It didn¡¯t take longer than half an hour for the other two miners to arrive and show their rubies. The guard nodded them forwards, then pressed the signal to call the lift. The shaft rattled and groaned, as the lift began to descend slowly into the mines.


    As they waited, Dorbin heard running footsteps. He turned and saw one of the other slaves running up the slope towards them. He was a young human man named Tristan, still newer than most to captivity. Regardless, he was thinner than most ¨C Dorbin knew that Tristan¡¯s wife was heavily pregnant, and that he had been giving her almost all of his food to give her the strength she needed.


    The guard turned towards Tristan. ¡°You have it?¡±


    Tristan shook his head and pointed an accusatory finger at the man next to Dorbin, who had been the last to arrive, a fey-kind named Root. ¡°He! Took it!¡±


    Root shrugged and held up his Deep Ruby. ¡°I did,¡± he said. ¡°But it¡¯s mine now. I don¡¯t expect our captors care much who it came from.¡±


    Tristan looked to the guard, who couldn¡¯t have looked less interested in the whole affair. Dorbin rounded on Root. ¡°Does fairness mean nothing to you, lad?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Should it?¡± Root asked. ¡°Was it fairness that bore me to this fortress and these caves? Was it fairness that burned your home, Dorbin? It seems that the world hasn¡¯t extended much fairness to me.¡±


    Dorbin frowned. The minds of fey-kind were notoriously unchangeable, and he knew that he would have no chance of convincing Root. He looked at Tristan and his crestfallen face, which was realising that he would be spending even longer down here.


    He thought of Tristan¡¯s wife and made a decision. He stepped forwards and pressed his Deep Ruby into Tristan¡¯s hand.


    Tristan shook his head. ¡°Dorbin, no.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Dorbin insisted. ¡°I¡¯m a dwarf, I was meant for mining. I can spend a few more hours down here. You need to get some rest, lad.¡±


    ¡°I really can¡¯t accept this,¡± Tristan said, but Dorbin shook his head.


    ¡°It¡¯s done now,¡± he said. ¡°Your wife will be needing you.¡± He turned to the guard. ¡°You¡¯ll accept his price for mine, I expect.¡±


    The guard shrugged. Once again, Dorbin understood that he didn¡¯t care either way. Whatever happened, one of them would be left behind to continue the work.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make this up to you,¡± said Tristan. ¡°I swear it on Tiagem.¡± He named the law god, and Dorbin nodded at the gesture.


    ¡°I know you will, lad.¡± The doors of the lift shaft slid open, as the lift finally arrived. ¡°Now, get yee up there before I change your mind.¡±


    Tristan nodded and went for the doors. He gave a dirty look to Root, one that was shared by the rest of the miners and nodded in thanks again to Dorbin as the doors closed behind him.


    Dorbin sighed and hefted his pickaxe.


    ¡°Idiot.¡± He turned to the guard, who was watching him with an expression that said he still didn¡¯t care about anything.


    ¡°What?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Idiot,¡± the guard repeated. ¡°How long have you been down here now? You¡¯ll die before you even find another ruby. Noble but idiotic.¡±


    Dorbin nodded. ¡°The thing is lad; I don¡¯t believe that you¡¯re wrong.¡±


    ¡°No skin off my back,¡± said the guard. ¡°Get out of here.¡±


    Dorbin turned and began the walk back down into the cave. The steep slope made each step a jolt on his knees, and by the time he reached the bottom he was almost stumbling. He needed rest, for sure, but he would have none here. He had seen what happened to those who fell asleep in the caves.


    Other miners toiled close to the magma veins and didn¡¯t even look up to acknowledge him. Dorbin didn¡¯t bother attempting to greet them and went to the same wall that he had been working on before. It wasn¡¯t so uncommon to find a second Deep Ruby where the first had been, and he had no better ideas as to how to search.


    He swung his pickaxe. It carved a chunk out of the wall, and he swung again, sending a prayer to Adamin for another miracle.


    But it seemed that today, Adamin¡¯s attention was all spent. On Dorbin¡¯s second swing, the head of his pickaxe snapped off the handle and dropped onto the ground in front of him. The handle had splintered completely in two with no hope of repair.


    Dorbin stared at it. He couldn¡¯t use this broken pickaxe to continue mining, which meant the only option he had was to return to the lift and get a new one. He knew that he would never make it that far.


    He sat down against the stone wall. Many dwarves would have given an arm to die like this, deep in the earth, but that had never been the dream of any Featherbeard. Dorbin had wanted to die watching the clouds. He looked up, squinting in the low light, as the stalactites that hung from the ceiling. Perhaps they could be clouds.


    As he slowly drifted off to sleep, he imagined the stalactites coming to life and dancing across the roof of the cave, twisting into a thousand patterns and then parting to give him a final glimpse of the sun.

 Chapter Two - Powerlessness

    Lenore leant against the low wall and tried to take deep breaths as she felt the impact against the inside of her stomach. The little one was being especially aggressive today.


    ¡°Easy now,¡± she muttered, hoping to calm her baby. It didn¡¯t stop, and continued kicking aggressively.


    One of the guards snapped at her to keep moving. She and some of the other prisoners were being escorted back to their cells after she had spent almost a full day making clothes for the soldiers.


    She felt a pair of hands grab her under the arm. Her mother Gerry made low, reassuring noises as she helped Lenore continue walking.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Lenore said.


    ¡°No need to apologise,¡± Gerry said. ¡°I remember when I carried you. You hammered on me like you were trying to go to war with the outside.¡±


    ¡°Mum,¡± Lenore complained. ¡°There are people around. Please don¡¯t talk about anything to do with my birth.¡±


    Gerry chuckled. ¡°If you¡¯re awake enough to be embarrassed, then you might just survive this place yet.¡±


    Lenore rolled her eyes at her mother¡¯s seemingly endless optimism. They had been at the fortress for nearly three months now, and no matter how bad things got Gerry still insisted that things would all work out in the end. According to her, she had survived three husbands, eighteen boyfriends, and two cults and made it out alright, so there wasn¡¯t much more the world could throw at her. Apparently that included brandings, because she even took those as just another thing that happened that day.


    Their cells were a number of open air cages placed just within the fortress¡¯s wall. Lenore noticed that Tristan was already here, and her heart fluttered in joy, but then it returned to its normal rhythm when she saw the look on her husband¡¯s face. Tristan¡¯s eyes were red and puffy as though he had been crying, and he seemed even more worn than the mines usually made him.


    The guards shoved, Lenore, Gerry, and several other prisoners into the cage next to Tristan¡¯s. Immediately Lenore went to the end, so that she could be close to Tristan. The two cages weren¡¯t quite next to one another ¨C there was about a metre in between, enough space that guards could walk in the space between them.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± she said.


    He turned to look at her, and she realised he hadn¡¯t even noticed her until now. Something was seriously wrong ¨C usually he would sit looking around for her return like an eager puppy. Something had been drained out of him.


    ¡°What happened?¡± she asked.


    Tristan¡¯s voice almost cracked when he said: ¡°Dorbin. He¡¯s dead.¡±


    Lenore gasped, but she wasn¡¯t the only one. Others around her heard, and quickly the news spread through most of the prisoners. Everyone knew Dorbin. Everyone liked Dorbin. Everyone had thought Dorbin would live forever.


    ¡°How?¡± she asked.


    Tristan told her the story. How he had found a Deep Ruby, and how Root had come in and stolen it from him. How he had followed him to the elevator, and tried to get it back, but Root had refused, and how Dorbin had given him his own Deep Ruby to allow him to return to the surface.


    ¡°So he could still be alive,¡± said a little girl named Currie.


    Lenore turned to look at her, but before she could say anything in response Gerry took her by the shoulders. ¡°Of course he could be,¡± she said warmly. ¡°If anyone can survive a few more hours in the mines, it would be Dorbin.¡±


    Sometimes, Lenore wondered how kind her mother¡¯s optimism really was.


    ¡°Where is Root?¡± someone said.


    From the far end of Tristan¡¯s cage, Root stepped out of the shadows cast by the wall. It was incredible how well he had been able to hide, and Lenore might have been more impressed if it weren¡¯t for how angry she was.


    ¡°What?¡± Root asked calmly. ¡°Am I to be placed on trial now?¡±


    Another man stood up in the cage. He had orcish blood in him somewhere that made him almost seven feet tall, and he had to stoop to avoid his head hitting the top of the cage. The man, whose name was Orid, pointed an accusing finger at Root. ¡°You¡¯re a murderer!¡± he said. ¡°Dorbin is dead because of you.¡±


    ¡°I only did what I needed to in order to survive,¡± said Root. ¡°You know, I have a family that I would like to return to someday, and unfortunately my talents do not extend to, ah, mining. I know that Tristan is a good enough soul to share, and I didn¡¯t know that the consequence of my actions would affect Dorbin.¡±


    ¡°Murderer,¡± Orid pressed.


    ¡°Am I any more of a murderer than Tristan?¡± Root asked.


    Lenore saw her husband stiffen. ¡°Don¡¯t rise to it,¡± she thought.


    Orid frowned. ¡°Are you calling Tristan a murderer too?¡±


    ¡°Not at all,¡± Root reassured him. ¡°The murderers here are our captors. They¡¯re the ones who allowed Dorbin to die, and would have allowed the same to happen to either I or Tristan. Getting angry at me is understandable, of course.¡± He took two steps forwards so that he was standing in front of Orid, so close that they would have been able to feel one another¡¯s breath. Despite this, he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.


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    ¡°How many times in your life have you felt weak, Orid? With that huge body of yours, you must have never gone a day feeling threatened in your life. But now the people hurting you are people who you can¡¯t stop. I don¡¯t blame you for shifting your anger towards me, but in the end you¡¯ll change nothing. Still, if you feel the need to take justice¡­¡± Lenore didn¡¯t hear what he said after that. Whatever it was, it made Orid step backwards, his shoulder slumped in defeat.


    ¡°Excellent,¡± Root said. ¡°Now, everyone mourn Dorbin in whatever way they choose. I¡¯m going to sit in that corner and eat stale bread.¡±


    Despite the obvious air of anger, no-one tried to stop Root. Lenore thought that they were just too tired ¨C when there was this little energy to go around, spending any of it on anger was a way to get you killed. Maybe that was why Gerry was so determined to be positive.


    Tristan turned to face Lenore. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said. ¡°I haven¡¯t even asked how you are.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Lenore assured him. ¡°Tired, but fine. So is the little one.¡±


    She wanted more than anything to have Tristan be next to her, so that she could put his hand over her stomach and let him feel the kicks of his child. For him to know that the baby was there, and alive, and waiting to meet him. It wouldn¡¯t erase his sadness, but it would be a comfort to him. But their cages were too far apart, and Tristan simply couldn¡¯t reach that far.


    ¡°Root is right, you know,¡± he said.


    Lenor shook her head. ¡°He¡¯s not.¡±


    ¡°He is. I¡¯m as responsible for Dorbin¡¯s death as him. I could have made the choice to let him come back.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you did.¡± Lenore felt a deep knot of guilt even as she said it. She imagined the words being tossed back at her when she died, and Tiagem judged whether she would be sent to the hells. ¡°It¡¯s selfish I know, but I¡¯m glad that I have my husband. If I had to choose between you and Dorbin, there¡¯s no hesitation for me. Not at all.¡±


    She could tell that Tristan¡¯s guilt was still great. It hung over him like a shroud, darkening him. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to keep my promise to him. I swore to Tiagem that I would make this up to him, but how can I now?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Lenore admitted. She wasn¡¯t the type of person who could answer those questions. A few months ago, she had been a washerwoman. Now she was a slave. Neither of those were roles that positioned her to think in depth about philosophy.


    She could see Tristan¡¯s disappointment. He had wanted her to give him the words that would absolve him, but she didn¡¯t have them to give. He had known that, and still believed in her. She loved him for that.


    Gerry sit down next to her and leant against the wall of the cage. ¡°That Dorbin,¡± she said. ¡°He was a fine one ¨C in more ways than one. Why, if we weren¡¯t slaves¡­¡±


    ¡°Mum!¡± Lenore protested.


    Gerry shrugged. ¡°Oh, grow up Lenore. Your mother has her own needs.¡± She sighed. ¡°Still, I¡¯m going to miss him. A lot of people are. He was the kind of person who you could rally around.¡±


    Lenore nodded. She remembered the first time she had met Dorbin, the first night when she and the rest of the people from her village had been brought to the fortress. She had been shivering intensely, not from the cold ¨C it had been late in the spring at the time ¨C but from an illness that had been brought along from the baby she had only recently learned about.


    Dorbin had managed to find blankets for her, and then when she was all wrapped up he sang her a song in the dwarven language, a lullaby he said. Lenore hadn¡¯t understood a word, and Dorbin didn¡¯t exactly have the nicest voice, it being all scratchy and sometimes faint, but it had carried a comforting feeling that had let her sleep that night.


    ¡°Still,¡± said Gerry. ¡°Whatever the dwarven afterlife is like, he¡¯s probably enjoying himself there now. A nice little bow for him on the end of everything he¡¯s managed to do.¡± She looked over her shoulder at the corner where Root hid. ¡°And for others, I imagine when that time comes it will be far less sweet. I wouldn¡¯t blame yourself, Tristan. It sounds like Dorbin made his choice, and you can¡¯t have a clearer absolution than that.¡±


    Tristan nodded, but Lenore knew him well enough to know that this would bother him for a very long time.


    The door of the cage opened again and another woman was thrown in with them. She was Kiara, a very tall elf. She collapsed to the ground, and Lenore saw that her back was covered in deep gashes, the ones that came from being whipped.


    Several of the other women came forwards to check on her. Kiara was barely conscious, but despite that she still tried to get to her feet. The movement caused one of her gashes to spurt blood, and the others held her to make sure that she wasn¡¯t moving too much.


    ¡°Water,¡± someone said. ¡°We need water.¡±


    They didn¡¯t have much water ¨C the guards didn¡¯t give them much at all ¨C but it didn¡¯t take much time for them to fill one of their small buckets. Midge, who was the closest thing that they had to a doctor, soaked a rag in water and started to clean Kiara¡¯s wounds. The elf screamed in pain as her wounds were disturbed, but the others held her down to make sure she received treatment.


    ¡°She just dropped a sword she was carrying,¡± someone said. ¡°That was all. It was a mistake. And they did that to her.¡±


    Root¡¯s words seemed all too obvious now. It didn¡¯t matter what any of them did ¨C they were all powerless here. Anything could kill them, the tiniest mistake or the tiniest failure.


    She put her hand over her stomach. Her baby had gone quiet for the moment. Earlier she would have been glad for the respite from his kicks, but now she missed them. It felt like there was something missing.


    When this baby was born, in only a few months ¨C and she forced herself to think of it as a when and not an if, because the alternative was too horrible ¨C what would happen to it. What kind of life could she give a child who was a slave from the very first moment it opened its eyes.


    Gerry put her hand on top of hers. ¡°It¡¯ll be okay,¡± she said, but the reassurance rang hollow against this oppressive, hopeless feeling that came from being at the bottom of the world.


    Tristan was reaching out his arm towards her through the bars of his cage. Lenore mirrored him, and in the empty air between their two cages their hands met. Her fingers wrapped around his and she thought that she would never let go.


    But it couldn¡¯t last. A guard happened to be passing, and he stomped towards them. He pulled a small metal baton from a hook on his waist and slammed it into their hands, forcing them to pull away from one another.


    Lenore cradled her fingers, but refused cry out in pain.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Gerry said, standing up. ¡°How dare you ¨C¡° She released a soft gasp as the guard struck her across the face, and fell back to her knees.


    ¡°Mum!¡± Lenore cried. She went to her mother. Gerry slowly pulled her hand away from her face and let Lenore look at it. Fortunately the skin didn¡¯t seem broken. The guard must have not been using his full strength.


    ¡°You know the rules,¡± the guard said. ¡°Stay in your cages.¡±


    Just as he was turning to go, the noise of the fortress was split in half by the wailing sound of a siren. It was one of the largest things Lenore had ever heard in her life, and she clamped her hands over her ears to block it out but it didn¡¯t even make a distance.


    She could see Gerry¡¯s face with a strange smile, even as she was covering her own ears. She said something, but Lenore couldn¡¯t hear what it was.


    ¡°What!?¡± she yelled.


    Gerry leaned in close and pulled one of her hands away from her ear. She placed her mouth right against the ear and shouted: ¡°The fortress is under attack!¡±


    Then the outer wall of the fortress exploded inwards and a man riding on an eighty foot long dragon flew through the open hole.

 Chapter Three - Hiking Songs

    Chapter Three ¨C Hiking Songs


    Warren was so shocked that he almost died again, but managed to get away with only his head falling off. He groaned and looked down at it, then picked it up and checked it for cracks. He was in luck ¨C the white bone of the skull was as intact as it had ever been. Whatever dark magics had been used to bring him back from beyond the grave, they were really good at keeping him together.


    ¡°Well, that could be a problem,¡± said one of the other skeletons.


    Warren nodded at him. He didn¡¯t know the other skeleton¡¯s name, because technically he didn¡¯t have one. The only reason that Warren was Warren was because he had chosen the name for himself. From what he could tell, that was a rarity amongst skeletons.


    The battlements they stood on were one of the upper layers of the fortress. From here, Warren could see the giant dragon raging within the outer walls, breathing fire over anyone who tried to run towards it. Behind it, he could see soldiers pouring in ¨C an entire army. It was actually impressive that they had gotten so close without being spotted.


    ¡°I suppose this means we¡¯ll be dead again soon,¡± Warren said. It was a pessimistic way to look at things, but being a skeleton didn¡¯t really give much to be optimistic about.


    The door behind them opened, and the Master ran out onto the battlements in his nightgown. This was the necromancer who had risen Warren, as well as the other skeletons and a whole hoard of undead things. He scanned the battle happening below.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on!?¡± he screeched.


    Warren gestured with his spear. ¡°There¡¯s a dragon, Master.¡±


    ¡°I can see there¡¯s a dragon!¡± Master screamed. ¡°Why are you all standing around here!? Go and fight it!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Warren said. ¡°I mean, it looks quite dangerous down there. Someone could get badly hurt.¡±


    ¡°I order you to go and fight!¡± the Master screamed, which really did change things. That was one of the issues with being a mindless skeleton risen by a necromancer for the purposes of war and destruction ¨C it really was quite difficult to make decisions for oneself.


    ¡°Jolly good, Master,¡± he said. He turned and raised his spear. He calculated that if he leapt over the ramparts, he could land on top of the dragon and maybe even stab it once before the impact entirely eviscerated him. It wasn¡¯t the plan he would have made, but he supposed that it was as good as he was going to get.


    He put his leg up on the wall, ready to jump. Just as he did, an arrow emerged out of the darkness. It flew past him, and struck the Master right in the forehead. He dropped like a sack of bricks, dead immediately.


    ¡°Wow,¡± said Warren. ¡°I suppose he forgot to put his wards up before coming out here.¡±


    Then he realised that he hadn¡¯t collapsed into an inanimate pile of bones. That was strange ¨C he had always assumed that summoned skeletons would disappear when the person who summoned them was dead. True, he had never actually thought to ask, so maybe it was wrong. How did that old saying go ¨C when you assume, you make an ass out of you and me.


    He turned to ask one of the other skeletons what they thought of it, and realised that they actually had collapsed into piles of bones, some of which were already starting to dissolve. Well, that was even stranger. Warren couldn¡¯t think of any reason why he would go on existing if the rest of his skeleton friends didn¡¯t.


    Another thing, he no longer had the urge to follow orders. That was quite liberating, at the very least. For the first time in his death, Warren had freedom, and self-actualization. Of course, it would have been nice for this to happen when the fortress wasn¡¯t under attack, but beggars couldn¡¯t be choosers.


    ¡°So Warren, old chum,¡± he said out loud. ¡°What are we going to do?¡±


    He didn¡¯t really want to fight in the battle. He was quite durable, especially for a pile of bones, but he didn¡¯t fancy his chances against a dragon. Even the average soldier could be too much for him, since the type of strategy that skeletons were usually employed for was overwhelming opposing forces with sheer damage.


    Perhaps he should leave. This would be a new beginning for Warren the skeleton. Maybe he should take up pottery, or something like that.


    He made his way down the steps of the Master¡¯s tower, which was full of undead that were no longer undead. Was it best to just call them dead? It seemed a bit reductive ¨C just calling them dead left out the context that there had been a time when they weren¡¯t dead, after the first time when they weren¡¯t dead.


    Warren decided that he would find one of those philosopher people and ask them about it. Those types were always thinking about things, maybe they would have an answer for him.


    By the time he reached the front door, the pathways of the inner fortress were mostly deserted. Everyone had either descended to fight in the battle, or they were hiding away somewhere with strong doors. Warren head for the sewers.


    The pipes into the sewers stunk. Warren didn¡¯t have a nose, but he also didn¡¯t have ears or eyes, so he didn¡¯t think not having things limited his ability to do the things that they would usually do. The pipe was blocked by a grate, but he pulled it off quite easily and stepped in.


    It was about waist height, and would have been quite uncomfortable for anyone with muscles to walk through, so it was fine for Warren. He saw some rats, some of which were quite large, but they left him alone.


    ¡°Okay,¡± he said. ¡°Which way?¡±


    He wouldn¡¯t be able to get outside of the fortress from this pipe. The sewers had a closed system that meant they couldn¡¯t be used to infiltrate the fortress. He knew where they would come out on the lowest level, but he would have to get past the outer wall on his own.


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    What would be the best way to do that?


    By now he was almost to the exit, and the pipe above him suddenly split open as a claw raked through the earth in front of him. Someone in armour fell through and landed in the shallow water in front of Warren. He stabbed them with his spear without even bothering to identify what side they were on.


    Oh, perhaps the southern gate wouldn¡¯t be guarded. It was only small, and practically invisible from the outside, and he knew that if it was up to him he wouldn¡¯t keep guarding it when there was a dragon in the courtyard. He peeled the grate off of the exit and stood up to his full height, taking in the chaos. This was a battle alright. The dragon was tearing its way through the defensive lines, even as dozens of spears and hundreds of arrows stuck out of it. Around it, both sides were locked in battle. Bodies were everywhere.


    A skeleton advanced towards him. He had no way of knowing what side it worked for ¨C they didn¡¯t typically get standards.


    ¡°Flank them!¡± the skeleton ordered. ¡°We¡¯ll win this yet!¡±


    Warren nodded. ¡°Yes sir,¡± he said. It occurred to him that with how vague those orders were, he wouldn¡¯t be able to follow them even if he tried.


    Making his way through the battle was actually surprisingly easy. People were usually too busy to deal with a lone skeleton, and nobody seemed quite sure which side of the battle he was on. He held his spear like he meant to use it, and occasionally waved it non-committedly at people, and that seemed to be enough. He got to the wall and made his way south in its shadow. There were still people here, but if anyone got too close he just stabbed them through the heart and kept on going!


    ¡°Help! Help us!¡±


    Warren would have frowned if he had the ability. People calling for help in a battle wasn¡¯t unusual, but this didn¡¯t sound like a soldier.


    Of course ¨C he had ended up near the slave pens. There were half a dozen cages in this area, and he had been so focused on getting himself out that he had forgotten they were here. He made his way to where he knew them to be. When he came upon the nearest cage, a child was standing at the bars as though she could tear them off. When she saw him coming, she screamed.


    ¡°Hello,¡± Warren said. ¡°Do you need help?¡±


    The little girl was quickly hidden behind a group of adults. ¡°Begone, foul creature!¡± one of them cried. She was holding some kind of totem made out of sticks that almost resembled a religious effigy.


    ¡°That¡¯s rude,¡± Warren said. ¡°I can get you out of those cages if you want.¡±


    The woman with the effigy scowled. ¡°Never! You¡¯re an aberration on this world!¡±


    ¡°Now now, Midge,¡± said another woman. ¡°If the nice skeleton is offering to help us, then why not let him?¡±


    ¡°Gerry, he¡¯s a creature of darkness!¡±


    ¡°And a very polite one too. Come on dear, we¡¯d gladly accept your help.¡±


    Warren decided that was enough of an invitation. He grabbed the bars of the cage and pulled. They bent quite easily, giving the prisoners a large hole that they could crawl through.


    ¡°Well if that¡¯s all, I¡¯ll be on my way,¡± he said.


    ¡°Wait!¡± One of the women, whose stomach had an unusual bulge to it, staggered towards him. ¡°The other cages! Can you open them to?¡±


    ¡°I can,¡± said Warren. ¡°Would you like me to?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± said the woman. ¡°Please!¡±


    He nodded. ¡°I will.¡± He went to the next cage, and opened a hole like the first. The first person to come through the hole was a young man who ran to the bulge woman and embraced her deeply. He moved onto the next. There were between eight and ten prisoners per cage, so by the time Warren was done there were half a hundred people embracing one another and talking like they weren¡¯t in a battlefield.


    Someone yelled that the prisoners were escaping, but he was killed immediately by the dragon¡¯s tail and nothing came of it.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be going now,¡± Warren said to the woman had been called Gerry, because she seemed like the leader of this group. ¡°I wish you all luck.¡±


    ¡°How are you getting out?¡± she asked.


    ¡°The southern gate,¡± Warren said. ¡°I think it should be quite easy to get out that way. Farewell.¡± He started to walk away. He could hear the prisoners arguing behind him, but he didn¡¯t bother to listen to what it was about.


    One of them, a fey-kind, flagged him down. ¡°Undead!¡± he said. ¡°Undead, I must speak to you.¡±


    ¡°My name is Warren,¡± said Warren. This was actually the first time he had said this to anyone, the first time he wouldn¡¯t have been punished for deciding on a name for himself. Saying it out loud only cemented in his mind that he was supposed to have this name.


    ¡°It is?¡± The fey-kind made a face, but Warren did not understand facial expressions. ¡°I need your help. I need you to protect me. These other prisoners hate me, and perhaps they have reason to, but I wish to stay alive¡­ no offense. I can offer you money if you can escort me back to my homeland.¡±


    Warren stared at him.


    ¡°And of course, anything else you want. Clearly you are strong, so why not lend me some of your strength.¡±


    ¡°No thank you,¡± said Warren. ¡°I don¡¯t think that I need money, but thank you for the offer.¡±


    He started walking again, but the fey-kind got in his path. ¡°Perhaps then, you would agree to shepherd this people! If they thought that I did something good for them, then their grievances against me might seem less important.¡±


    Warren hadn¡¯t really experienced being annoyed before, but he was sure that was what this feeling he was having would be.


    ¡°I¡¯m busy,¡± he said firmly. ¡°I¡¯m trying to leave this place. That said, if you really don¡¯t want to die then I can try not to make it happen. And if you want to follow me to the south gate I won¡¯t stop you. But I¡¯m too busy to be making a deal about it, so don¡¯t try and give me things.¡±


    The fey-kind was silent for several seconds. ¡°Well, okay then,¡± he said.


    Warren kept walking. He soon realised that the prisoners were following him, some of them trying to be stealthy and some of them going out of their way to collect weapons and tools. Warren just focused on moving forwards. If anyone tried to stop him he engaged them in combat and ended up winning.


    By the time he reached the south gate, he looked like he was leading a small army. There were less people than before, but he didn¡¯t know what had happened to the others because he hadn¡¯t been watching.


    The south gate had a few guards left on it, so Warren killed them before they could let him through. Funny, these guards really weren¡¯t so good at their jobs. Or perhaps Warren was having a good day, because normally any one of them would have been more than a match for him.


    The gate was operated by a chain and lever system, but Warren didn¡¯t know how to work it. He tried pushing on the gate, but it wouldn¡¯t budge ¨C he should have known. Luckily one of the prisoners seemed to have worked it out, and the gate opened. Outside, the mountain path was dark and unlit. No-one was waiting for them outside. It was likely that the attackers hadn¡¯t known about it, or just hadn¡¯t considered it important. He stepped out of the fortress into the cool night air. The prisoners followed him, clutching torches, and swords and spears, and axes and pickaxes and kitchen knives and hoes.


    Warren was outside, but where to go first? This place would be a battleground for a good while longer, so it would probably be best to get away from here. The forests a few dozen miles away would be a good place to hide, and after that he could make a decision over where to go next.


    He had the idea that he should be singing a hiking song. The only problem was that he didn¡¯t know any. He turned around, and Gerry was standing just behind him.


    ¡°Do you know any good hiking songs?¡± he asked.


    She nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what dear, once we¡¯ve made it a few miles I¡¯ll teach you some.¡±


    That sounded quite fair. The night would turn into the day soon, and Warren wanted to be far away when that happened. He made his way along the path, away from the fortress, and the clump of unprisoned prisoners followed.


    Was it best to just call them free? It felt reductive; calling them free missed out the time when they hadn¡¯t been free. He felt like that should be important. That would have to be another one for the philosophers.