Chapter Two

Dain pulled desperately at the pieces of stone blocking the lower tunnels. He had abandoned all tools as too unwieldy and had resorted to using just his hands to pull at the pieces of the wall between him and his son. His frenzy meant his hands were rubbed raw and his fingernails were a bloody mess. While he had been discussing what they could do to stop their community falling into poverty, the news had fed through of a collapse down below, with two people trapped underneath it. Merek, and...Heymon.

Of course he had rushed to the site, but the way had been blocked. Totally blocked. The supporting beam had collapsed completely, apparently when Heymon had crashed into it. Volunteers immediately joined him to help. Parry had come as soon as he heard, as had Elgar, a man Dain didn’t know or like much. Nevertheless, he would be eternally grateful for any help that saved Heymon.

“Parry, make sure you move those upper rocks first, and get rid of those ones on the left,” he pointed to an area. “Elgar, work on this bit, but be careful in case somebody is trapped underneath. Make sure-”

Parry interrupted him by taking hold of his arm, speaking gently.

“Dain, we know what we’re doing. Just relax, Heymon will be fine.”

He held his tongue, accepting that he should leave them to it, and went back to his job in silence. The quicker they worked the better their chances, so they slaved on, not stopping to eat or drink. Someone had taken the job of carrying away the rock they shifted, and progress was being made, slowly.

“Come on, come on, move,” he murmured impatiently.

Parry shouted above the sound of the scrabbling, “We’ll get to them.”

He didn’t know what he would find under there, but his brain wouldn’t let him believe that Heymon was dead under there. It just wasn’t an option.

“Stand back!” shouted Parry, as the rock in front of them shifted and some fell away. Dain did, feeling a spark of hope that they were almost through.

“You see that?” asked Parry, glimpsing something pale in the rock at their feet. Dain’s heart clenched and it felt as if his chest was being squeezed in a vice. It was somebody’s skin.

“Dig him out!” he roared, getting into a new whirl of activity. Suddenly, a hand was exposed. Then an arm. And then-

“Anim have mercy,” Parry made a sign and looked upwards, then away. Dain sank to his knees, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch the piece of the tunnel which had caved in the back of Heymon’s head. It had broken the back of the skull and the wound was gory. He felt for a pulse, but the skin was cold. Heymon was right in the middle of the collapse. He hadn’t stood a chance.

“I’m sorry,” said Parry gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Not right that this could happen, ‘s not. You can leave. We’ll handle the rest.”

“No,” said Dain coldly, feeling empty. “I’m staying.”

Parry didn’t argue. He turned to the boy with the job of carrying the debris up, who was just staring in shock.

“Don’t stand there like a fucking simpleton. Get a sheet to cover the body!”

The boy nodded mutely and ran to fetch one. The body. That was what his son was now. In silence, he helped the others clear away the rest of the rubble around him. Soon his whole body was exposed. Perhaps he was imagining it, but the body seemed frail, as if it had been squashed thinner, although the only obvious blood was on the rock embedded in his head which nobody had dared touch. The awkwardness of it hung in the air between them. Feeling self-conscious and a little ill, he went over to the body, grabbed the rock, and pulled, removing it with a sickening squelch, throwing the rock aside. Nobody said anything.

Dain knew he shouldn’t look, but he did, and immediately averted his eyes. It was a head of hair which seemed so familiar, in such a crippled state. It made him want to retch. He didn’t look at his son’s face when they moved him onto a sheet and wrapped him in it. He was afraid of what he might see in his face. Dain wanted to know that he hadn’t suffered, and to see a face in agony or fear would ruin that for him.

They all turned as they heard a noise by the blockage. It was faint, but there.

“Merek?” shouted Elgar.

“I’m here,” replied the faint voice. “Do you have Heymon?”

Elgar glanced back to Dain, seeming reluctant to say.

“We’ll dig you out,” shouted Parry. “Stand back.”

Dain wanted to hit the lot of them. They were acting like he was some fragile object that would break if they said the wrong thing. He was a grown man, not a child. He had dealt with loss before, it was just that this time had been so unexpected. He would have to bring the news to his wife Gelen as well, and dreaded the thought. He would have to bring back the body and see the sorrow and accusation in her eyes. She had thought he was too young to work in the mines, but Dain had argued against her. Why had he encouraged Heymon? They hadn’t been that desperate for money, and he could have found something else. Dain had been too focused on the family tradition, and his own pride at having his son follow in his footsteps, that he hadn’t looked out for him the way he should. He had to take a part of the blame for Heymon’s death, and that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He didn’t think as he cleared away the remainder of the rock blocking Merek in. It seemed like a cruel divine joke that someone as innocent as Heymon had been taken while Merek had survived. They made an opening, and the man crawled out of the darkness, coughing. He was dirty, but seemed completely unharmed. It wasn’t right. Why should he be fine?

“Where’s Heymon, I couldn’t hear him, is he-” Merek caught sight of the body wrapped in a white sheet and his face fell. He had gone pale, and seemed genuinely shocked.

“Dain, I’m so sorry, I tried to save him,” said Merek, wide-eyed. “I tried to stop him falling but I just got dragged down with him. It happened too quickly, I ran towards him, but then it all fell in on us. I hoped he was just knocked out, or on the other side, but...please don’t blame me for it, I would never have wished any harm to him, he was a kind lad, the best.”

Dain hadn’t expected such a strong reaction, especially from someone he hardly knew, and was touched despite himself. It was hard not to believe the emotion on the man’s face, and Dain couldn’t hold anything against him. He had tried to save Heymon and almost died himself.

“I don’t blame you,” said Dain, his throat rough with grief. “Thank you. I didn’t realize you knew him well.”

“We never spoke long, but he was always around, carrying,” Merek looked down at the sheet. “Is there anything I can do?”

Dain shook his head. Parry coughed.

“Will you take him home then?” he asked. “The protest can go on without you.”

“You know I said much the same to Heymon,” muttered Dain. “He said what Slynn was doing was disgusting and that we had to do something. I’ll come with you, and I’ll bring Heymon. Maybe that will make him pause.”

“It was him who ordered us to expand, remember,” said Parry gently. “We weren’t going to mine this deep but he wanted more than we could mine.”

“That’s right,” remembered Dain, feeling a spark of anger permeate his otherwise empty chest. “The greedy bastard wanted more.”

“It’s his fault, if you think about it,” continued Parry. “We could have taken our time, we were working well and the current tunnels had plenty left in them, but he forced us to dig deeper when he knew it wouldn’t be safe. He killed Heymon.”

Dain could see what his friend was doing. He was trying to drag him out of his sorrow and raise his ire for the cause, but it was still working. His brain was looking for someone to blame, and Parry had shown him a clear villain. He focused on that spark of anger, trying to feed it into a flame which consumed him. It felt easier to be angry at Slynn than think about Heymon. Dain gathered his son in his arms, and turned to the others.

“Gather everyone at the top, I have something to say.”

Dain made his way outside, laying the awfully light sheet outside the main entrance to the tunnels. It had seemed a good idea a moment ago but addressing the entire group seemed arrogant now. What made him the person to listen to? But it was too late to change his mind now, as the whole workforce, over two-hundred men, were stood to hear what he had to say. Dain cleared his throat, feeling like he should be on some kind of stage to speak to such a large group. But if their protest was to work they needed to be united, and even just a few words might help.

“Today has been an eventful day,” he said, closing his eyes briefly to regain composure as his mind flashed back to this morning, when Heymon had been alive. “For some of us, more than others. As most of you will have heard, there was a mine collapse earlier, and...my son was killed. Assigning blame is impossible for an accident like this, but if it wasn’t for Favian Slynn’s greed, we would never have dug those tunnels, and Heymon would be alive.”

Dain paused, while the whole group of men in front of him was silent, listening to him. If there was one thing Dain understood, it was people, and in particular these people. He knew that these kinds of men would rather risk their lives than endure pain and suffering with patience.

“He is the first to die from that man’s greed, but if we endure what he is proposing to pay us, he won’t be the last. We could live on it for a while, maybe, but when winter comes or a vein dries up people will starve,” Dain raised his voice. “Better to die like Heymon than to slowly waste away. Yes, some could try to find other jobs, and let new workers suffer in our place, but we are miners, it’s in our blood! They need us down there, and we deserve money that we can survive on. If we stand together, Slynn will have no choice but to reverse his decision. He cannot replace us all. We can make sure that Heymon did not die for nothing by making sure Slynn’s greed doesn’t ruin our lives. The capital needs us to work, and even Slynn can’t argue with the King. I for one am going to make my feelings known. Are you with me?”

A roar of approval came up from the crowd of miners, and it was an inspiring sight. All these people he knew, cheering his words, uniting for the same cause.

“Then let’s talk to Slynn.”

***

They marched together, falling into step as they travelled along the cobbled forest road, boots and wagon wheels clattering as they went to take on this one man who seemed to hold so much sway over their lives. Almost all of the men from their mine had joined them, meaning there were close to two hundred men with him now. Dain couldn’t help but feel that at least a part of it was as a show of solidarity to him after what had happened to Heymon. He had tried to make something positive out of it in his short speech, to use it to inspire them to join him, but he would throw it all in and let the cause fail if it would bring his son back. Unsure of what to do with Heymon, he had decided to place him carefully in the wagon with the brimstone load that they were bringing along, as an alternative to just leaving him lying outside the mine. He hadn’t been home since this morning, so Gelen still had no idea, and he knew it might be wrong to leave her ignorant, but at least she could be happy for a little while longer. He had no desire for her to have to feel what he was feeling.

The mine where Dain worked wasn’t the largest, and did not make up a large enough proportion of the brimstone supply to stand alone. He had not heard anything about the other mines, but he could hardly doubt that Slynn’s ones at least would side with him if push came to shove. People just needed the guarantee that they weren’t going to be alone in their fight, and Dain was confident their workers could do that.

Their men stopped when they reached the building. It was plain, made of sturdy grey bricks, and large iron doors, one of which was ajar, covering the entrance. It was wide enough to accommodate the wagons which came and went, carrying large amounts of brimstone from all the mines nearby, to be stored and then delivered to Rivergate on demand. A smooth paved road marked out the route taken. Attached to one side of it was a small stable, to keep the horses of whoever was rich enough to own one. Six guards stood in a row by the double doors, each armed with a spear and shield and clad in light brown leather armour. Not quite the intimidating figures of the King’s Bloodsworn, but not to be dismissed nonetheless. The guards may be outnumbered, but there was a good chance of there being others elsewhere.

Dain’s heavy heart came to life a little, speeding up as the guards announced their presence. They didn’t seem panicked by their approach; either they were just professional in their attitudes or someone had seen their precession and sent word ahead to warn Slynn. Dain looked around to either side to see if there was an obvious trap awaiting them, but saw nothing between the trees. They were reaching the crucial point now, and how the next hour played out would be vital.

A man emerged from inside the building. They were not close enough to make out a face, but on his signal the guards pushed the door closed, and sealed it shut with what looked like a large wrought iron key. The man in question turned towards the men approaching him, seeming unconcerned, and stood a step in front of his guards, waiting patiently with his hands clasped in front of him.

As they got closer, Dain, at the front of their march beside the wagon, began to make out more of his features. He was of average height, about thirty years old, with brown hair, short and neatly trimmed. He had a fairly wide face, and golden-brown eyes. His clothes were maroon, with gold patterning suggesting expensive needlework. Dain didn’t recognise him, as he never deigned to visit the mines, but he suspected who it was. Favian Slynn, the owner of the largest number of brimstone mines in the Kingdom.

The troop of miners stopped, the closest of them fifteen yards from the man, who had a serenely calm expression on his face as he waited for someone to speak. Dain stood there for a moment before realising that nobody else on his side was going to, and spoke up.

“Are you Favian Slynn?”

“I am,” replied the man coolly. “How may I help you?”

Dain paused to keep himself composed as a cold shiver of anger ran through him, and allowed himself a moment to think before replying. He needed to be careful. He was speaking for all of them here, not just himself.

“You ordered the reduction in pay for the brimstone?”

“I did.”

Slynn seemed unabashed as he looked Dain over. It was almost as if he thought everything completely normal and couldn’t fathom why a hostile-looking group of men was in front of him. Dain tried to speak as civilly as possible.

“A great many of us view that as unfair, and want the decision reversed.”

Slynn smiled, as if finding it humorous.

“Well I shall take that into account, but last time I checked you do not decide how much you are paid. You just decide who you work for. If you do not like it, you are perfectly free to work somewhere else, as is your right,” he spread his hands in a friendly gesture. “But it is my right to decide what value I place on a particular service, and I feel that yours have been overvalued for a long time now, and changes must be made. Now, unless there is anything else, you may leave. Everyone else has left and I wish to go home.”

He turned away, and Dain felt like he had just been knocked flat. Everything the man said was correct, and Dain didn’t know how to argue with such cold logic. There was a stirring behind him among the men. He felt almost powerless. He just needed to find the right words, and Slynn would see that he was wrong, but he was a miner, not a diplomat. Dain wanted to see some kind of regret or shame from him. At least an insistence that he had been forced into it by the King. But he showed no guilt.

“My son died today!” shouted Dain, pointing to the wagon. “He died in a collapse in the mine you made us dig up!”

Slynn looked at him almost quizzically again, and laughed lightly.

“And this is my fault?”

That was his breaking point. A rich, miserly, far too clever wordsmith laughing about Heymon’s death in his face while he tried to do the right thing for hundreds of men who would struggle to survive because of one man. Dain roared and ran at him, with no plan of what to do, but just wanting to break that facade of impassiveness, and possibly his jaw.

Favian looked surprised, and perhaps disappointed, stepping back as a guard stepped forwards, swinging his spear around to bear against the side of Dain’s head, smashing him with the butt of it. Dain felt a bright flash of pain, and then he was being dragged up off the floor.

“Fetch the whip.”

Dain stirred as he felt the hands on him, and tried to struggle but was held too tightly on either side by the guards.

“That pay is rightfully ours,” insisted the miner. “Punishing me won’t change that.”

“You do realise I have a seat on the King’s council?” asked Favian almost disbelievingly. “I could have you hanged. Consider this a mercy. The rest of you, learn from this to be happy with what you have, and not cause trouble.”

Favian nodded to the whip-bearer.

“Strike.”

Dain cried out as a searing red hot pain flashed across his back as if he were being branded. As soon as it began to fade he was struck again, and he writhed to try to escape his hold, making a guard stumble but not freeing himself.

“Fuck you Slynn,” yelled a voice he could not see, sounding like Merek’s. A stone rebounded off the wall and landed in front of him, thrown by whoever had shouted. Suddenly it seemed as if everybody was shouting, the silent observers becoming an angry mob in a flash.

“There are more of us!” shouted someone.

“Make it ten lashes, I’m leaving,” said Slynn, walking away. Perhaps he thought that if he ran he would encourage them like a pack of wolves seeing prey, but given what followed, running seemed the more appropriate response. Dain grunted, managing not to cry out as the next lash hit, and a shout went up. The guards holding his arms threw him to the floor to defend themselves from the oncoming rush, but neither of them was quick enough, with one knocked to the floor and one tackled. Within seconds they were being brutally kicked, their light leather armour providing little protection.

The guard with the whip had had it ripped from him and Merek had it around the man’s neck as the choking man tried to elbow and kick his way out of the hold. One guard turned on the spot and ran. Another threw his spear, thankfully missing in his attempt, before running himself. The other, backed against the wall, stood his ground, jabbing at those who came near, but was soon surrounded, and his spear and shield ripped from him.

“Don’t hurt them! They’re honest men, paid to do a job,” shouted Dain, using his weight to knock people back from the guards on the ground, who weren’t even trying to fight against the overwhelming numbers. He caught Merek’s eye, who threw his coughing man to the ground, looking disgusted. Dain pointed.

“There’s the real evil. Capture Slynn before he gets away!”

Dain picked up the rock from the floor next to him, and threw it towards Slynn, who had taken a horse from the stables and was riding away from the chaos. It fell pitifully short, and the men could only watch as the man rode away too fast for any man on foot to catch. There was no chance any of them could catch him, even if they found a horse. Riding was a pursuit of the privileged.

Merek spat blood onto the ground and looked at Dain.

“Well what the fuck do you suggest we do now?”

Next Chapter: Chapter Four