030 – Dirty

***

Four barges came up the Spitpoison River, bearing workers, supplies, food, animals, and everything needed to turn the citadel into a living fortress. These men and ships had not traveled onboard the Obelisk, but came later in the flotilla of smaller vessels. Most of the cult’s people and possessions were unloaded at the old settlement. The barges carried what they could upstream, but one trip would not suffice for rebuilding this place. From now on, the barge crews would make regular deliveries. The tender boats we came in, now empty, returned for the harbor.

The presence of the devil-birds complicated the operation. They circled in the updrafts at the crown of the citadel and gazed with red eyes upon on the newcomers to their valley. The crew and passengers had to stay undercover so as not to tempt the monsters to swoop down on them. Before trekking up the side of the mountain, the workmen chopped down trees and built a rough landing site for the barges and log huts to shelter inside in case of an attack.

We four disciples watched this operation from the balcony of the Hall of Discipline. The shadow of the citadel stretched across the valley and shaded the workers below. Hwilla slid closer to me so that our arms touched. I would have moved away, but my foot rested at the edge of the balcony and a precipitous drop. There was no room to escape.

“The workers have arrived,” Zambulon said. “Finally we’ll have butchers and bakers and cooks. I’m sick of hard bread for every meal.”

“Does that mean we’re going to feed the trolls too?” I asked.

“Yes. They’ve been starved for days and are weak as babies. Korkso and his Goadsmen will capture the brutes and put them in chains. Then he’ll deal with those blasted devil-birds on the roof.”

Zambulon pointed to a group of two dozen men marching up the side of the mountain. They wore thick leather armor to protect against animal bites and scratches. These men were the cult’s monster tamers. Forcing monsters to serve human beings instead of eat them required brave men with a high degree of expertise. I could imagine them enslaving the trolls, but could not picture how anyone could whip the gigantic avians into submission.

One of the birds descended to a lower altitude to observe the humans approaching its nest. The captain drew his weapon, a wide bladed sword with a hooked tip, and the Goadsmen pointed their spears skyward. The monster did not attack. Devil-birds preferred to snatch lone prey in flat open spaces and generally avoided large herds of animals.

“The rest of the people won’t come up until after sunset when the birds are roosting. Let’s go meet the Goadsmen at the entrance,” Zambulon said.

Many of the Faceless went to greet the crew of monster tamers at the cavernous entrance hall. The three witches also showed up to speak with their fellow officer, Chief Korkso. He was an old man with gray hair. Only his heavy sword distinguished him from the rest of his crew, for he wore the same type of leather armor and helmet.

“Ho there, witch women. What nasties have you found inside this forsaken crypt?”

“Greetings, Chief Korkso,” Gritha replied flatly. She didn’t appreciate being referred to as a witch woman. “We’ve cleared the citadel of major threats except for the flock of devil-birds above and the Ancient golem below. A hundred and ninety trolls await you in the central hall.”

“Is that all there was?”

“We found a dozen nests of giant xlobats, a hellspider web, a pair of feathered snakes, a banshee vulture, and one eye-titan that our minions managed to let loose before we could kill the thing.” She shot a glance our way. Our fires let her pick the disciples out of the crowd of novices.

“Flying creatures eh? I suppose those are the only types to get up to the summit of this mount. Nothing too useful for building an army. Anything else I need to know?”

“The golem. It’s a wonder left behind the ancients, not a thing of flesh and blood. Don’t send any men into the underground labyrinth to confront it. Lord Hrolzek is the only one who can deal with a creature that powerful.”

“Aye. I heard tell there was some rocky brute hiding below. I’m grateful for it. A thing like that keeps the other vile worms from slithering into the dungeon.”

Chief Korkso temporarily recruited the Faceless for a second assault on the central chamber. The first battle was to lock the trolls inside, and this would be a fight to clap them in irons. His Goadsmen had a variety of tools at their disposal: whips, chains, lassos, manacles, branding irons, and the wooden batons their crew was named after. This would be a less bloody fight but just as brutal.

The cult’s forces stormed through one of the doors and met little resistance from the weakened trolls. Monsters strong enough to stand were bowled over and beaten. The rest crawled away from the invaders but found no avenue of escape from the barricaded silo. The Goadsmen held down the monsters and fastened heavy iron collars around their necks. They placed bits in the mouths of the trolls that tried to bite or gouge with their tusks. The tribe of troll raiders, once strong and powerful, howled in frustration at their rapid defeat.

Chief Korkso stood back from the fray and gestured to his men with his goad, like a maestro conducting an orchestra. He presided over the capture and removal of the trolls. In a few minutes,the central chamber fell under his control.

“Now where are we going to cage these ugly bastards?” he grumbled.

The central chamber was a nexus for the utility tunnels. It was no place for training dangerous monsters. He had to find his new slaves suitable accommodations elsewhere in the citadel. As another early arrival, Korkso got to pick whichever empty sub-building he wished. The witches had cleared the upper levels, but the ground floor had the largest sub-buildings capable of housing so many monsters. Korkso went to survey the citadel while his crew pacified the trolls and strung them together on long chains.

“It’s the start of a new era. Our monster army has its first volunteers,” Zambulon said.

“Did our last home have one?” I asked.

“No. We had some ogres and gargoyles, but not a standing army. Monsters aren’t like humans. You can’t send them out to be farmers during peace time. You have to keep them fed and locked up. That’s why we raise an army right before a war then send them out to the field.”

I still couldn’t picture a war. From what I gathered, it was like a giant game of kickball where two teams put on different uniforms and assembled on a field. Except instead of kicking a ball around, they murdered the other team’s players. I sure wouldn’t want to play games against a team of man-eating trolls.

“Why are you boys so dirty?” Hwilla asked. She noticed that Zambulon and I had soot all over our clothes.

“Um…”

“We’ve been cleaning.”

“Sweeping the chimneys.”

“Getting those chimneys ready. Ha ha. Nice and swept.”

“In preparation for the chimney repairmen.”

She frowned at us. “Well you should clean yourselves up. You represent the Hall of Discipline. You’ll set a bad example for the sparks.”

We had yet to tell the other two disciples about our midnight descents into the labyrinth or our creation of the ‘Student Improvement Fund.’ Now that the construction workers arrived—and the chimney repairmen—we could put our funds to use. I had a few of my own ideas about spending those coins as well.

One more trip down and up the elevator shaft would finish the job. We’d have to scrape through the filth and ash to find the last of the coins, but then we’d be done. The gold would be ours and no one would be the wiser.

***

The workers hiked up the mountain during the night when the devil-birds slept. Hauling supplies from the barges took them several trips. The tunnels resounded with shouts of human activity and life. People moved into the sub-buildings and for the first time the citadel’s windows lit up with flickering orange light from torches and lanterns.

Zambulon and I were anxious to finish our project. We had to act fast. With so many new people around, the chances of discovery increased. He worried that one of the workers might pull up our ropes while we were below, so he placed ‘Do Not Remove’ signs on the wooden braces that anchored them in place.

We slid down the ropes once again. The shaft had originally contained a large service elevator, so it was wide enough to fit a spiral stairway. Maybe the workmen could build a set of stairs or at least install ladders as the trolls had. I was sick of dangling over this dark abyss.

At the bottom we began our excavation for the last of the coins. If we were dirty before, this trip would leave us absolutely filthy. I shoveled the ash outside. Clouds of soot rolled down the hallway. Poor Browsk’s blackened skull watched over our labors.

“I think that’s it.” Zambulon shook his bag of jingling money. “There may be a few coins hidden in here, but I can’t stand wallowing in this pit any longer. I need a bath.”

“All right then.”

“Stop right there!” A voice rang out from above. A dark figure dropped down into the bottom of the elevator shaft, sending up a burst of soot and troll bones.

“Gah! Mi-Mi-Mistress Malisent,” Zambulon said.

The witch ignored him and pointed her sword at me. “So you’re stealing my gold, are you, Strythe? I knew should’ve come down here to collect it sooner.”

“Steal? Your gold? How do you figure?” I asked.

“Of course it’s mine, you clown. I won it through conquest.”

“Hmm. That doesn’t sound right to me. The way I see it, there are three possibilities. First, the money belongs to the whole of the Void Phantoms. Were that true, it doesn’t belong to either of us. We should deliver it over to the cult’s general fisc.

“The second possibility is that the money belongs to whoever found and salvaged it. In that case, it still doesn’t belong to you. The gold rightfully goes to Zambulon and I since we did all the dirty work.

“Third. By right of conquest, whoever killed the last owner can claim his possessions, including the box of coins. But you must recall, that you and I both worked together to defeat Browsk the Mighty. So then we would split the money in half.

“Of course, it could be possible that all three of those rules apply, in which case the cult would take one third, I would take another, and you and Zambulon would receive one sixth of the total.”

Malisent poked me with her sword. “Damn you to hell with your accountancy. Don’t try to confuse me with fractions. The money is mine,” she said. “You have neglected another possibility, Strythe. I am a superior officer, and you are a minion under my command. Therefor anything you find belongs to me, and your reward is whatever I deign to give you.”

“Hmm. I hadn’t thought of that. But were that the case, you would have to pass the gold up to your superior, Dark Lord Hrolzek. And any reward would not be split between you and I, but between you and the other two witches on the scouting mission, Gritha and Veylien. Certainly they would be very keen on knowing about this sum of gold and their claim on it…”

Malisent put her sword away. “You are exceptionally devious for an idiot. Take that stupid mask off when I’m talking to you, you shifty eyed fox.”

I untied the dirty skull mask and let it hang around my neck. My face was covered in sweat and black soot.

“Don’t you get paid a salary for being a witch? Why are you so interested in this pile of gold anyway?”

“It’s because Veylien has bribed the workmen to begin constructing her apartments first. I’m going to be squatting in dusty crypt until I pay off one of the foremen.”

“It sounds like no matter who gets the money, the construction workers are going to get rich.”

“All right then, minion. You’ve convinced me. Since the three of us here know about the gold, we’ll split it three ways. I’ll take two thirds, and you can have the rest.”

“That’s not a–”

“D– d– deal!” Zambulon shouted.

“Very good. You can deliver it to my new quarters. And don’t insult my generosity by attempting any clever accounting.”

Malisent went up the inside of the shaft. She didn’t even use the rope, she simply leapt from one wall to the next like a grasshopper.

“Zambulon. You caved so quickly! We could have haggled her down to at least half and half.”

“Now I know you’re out of your mind. You didn’t tell me your bright idea involved stealing gold from one of the witches. We’re lucky she didn’t kill us both.” The encounter with Malisent left him shaken. Our last misadventures resulted in worse scoldings from the officers, but this time he really expected to die.

“I figured she’d show up for her cut of the loot eventually. But we had a stronger negotiating position by gathering it first.”

“I swear I am never trusting one of your crazy ideas again. This is the last time!”

I thought it worked out fine. A talanton of gold and silver for the ‘Student Improvement Fund’ could make some respectable improvements.

***

“How did this happen?” Hwilla shouted.

Zambulon slammed the lid of our money box shut and spun around. “What? How did what happen?”

“You two are even filthier than before.”

“Oh. Right,” he said. He let out sigh of relief.

We were in the Hall of Discipline dividing our loot when Hwilla sneaked up on us.

“Turns out those chimneys were dirtier than expected. They put up quite the fight,” I said.

We had yet to inform the other disciples about our recent windfall. That was not a problem. Our real concern was for what Fightmaster Putrizio would think—and, judging by how things worked around here, how much of a cut he’d take for himself.

“There’s no excuse now that the delivery has come. We’ve got soap and water. You can bathe and wash your clothes. It’s all set up in the bathroom.”

“We have a bathroom?”

“Yes. It’s where the jail cell used to be. There’s tubs and a stove for heating water. Get in there and use them.”

We shuffled to the bath like captured prisoners. Hwilla had found a few large wooden tubs that looked like barrels sawed in half. A portable stove heated up iron buckets of water. She had chopped up the big log into chunks of fire wood. I picked up a flat instrument with a corrugated surface made from parallel wooden slats.

“It’s a washboard.” Zambulon answered preemptively. I rubbed it on the top of my head. It seemed an unpleasant washing tool. “…for your clothes.”

“The water is heated. The soap is ready.”

“That’s very nice of you, Hwilla,” I said.

“It’s not for you. The most senior disciple gets to use the bath first.” She grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out of the jail cell. “You can wait until he’s finished.”

This was all a ploy for her to nab me and get me alone in some dark area. It all made sense now.

“But I’m so filthy.” I stepped back in the cell.

“Wait your turn.” She pulled me back out.

“He needs assistance.” I jumped back inside and slammed the cage door shut between us. “I can wash the clothes as he bathes. It would be inappropriate for you to help him in this task, Senior Disciple Hwilla. For the time being, this is a men’s only facility.”

She crossed her arms. “Then I’ll be waiting outside…”

Once she left, I stripped off my filthy clothes and rubbed them against the washboard. Zambulon got in one of the tubs. He hesitated before removing his mask. “This isn’t just some weird ploy for you to spy on my features, is it?”

“Senior Disciple, you’re sitting naked in a giant bucket. Your face is the last thing you should worry about.”

Zambulon had sharp, aquiline features and raven black hair. His strong brow was knitted in a constant frown. Generally speaking, he was more severe than handsome. While his appearance wasn’t particularly exceptional, there was an unnatural intensity to his eyes.

“You are looking at my features!”

“After you’ve made such a big deal out of them, I couldn’t help but look. If I had a mirror I’d examine my own. I don’t even remember what my own face looks like.”

I rubbed my hands over my face to wash away the soot and ash. I had grown some hair on my chin. It had been weeks since my revivification. I should have a full beard by now.

“Wait a second. I can’t grow a beard. How old am I?”

“The same age as Hwilla. Nineteen,” Zambulon said. He lathered his hair. “But you’re Larnish. Your people don’t usually grow thick beards. Maybe when you’re middle aged.”

“That’s disappointing.” Magi aged at one third the usual rate after enkindling their fire. I wouldn’t be thirty for over thirty years. It would be a long time before I had a beard.

I filled up the second tub with hot water for myself and washed away the dirt and grime.