The sunlit clouds drifted across the clear blue sky above the large stockade. The overcast of large shadows of the enormous mountain range slowly swayed over the structure.
Far to the north, deep in the dense forest, far from civilization, stood the stockade. It boasted masses of thick walls and heavy structures, the structures scattered about and connected by thick defensive stone walls that had sun-tanned tiles as roofs upon it.
Many courtyards, small and big, rested about here or there, some having wooden buildings with rows of stables, the sound a continuous neigh from the horses within. Other courtyards had thatch-roofed sheds with wooden fencing that surrounded small but productive gardens, or maybe some cattle, chicken pens and pigs. All to be seen working and farming was women of the stockade. They gently cultured the flourishing fruits and vegetables.
Streams of smoke here or there ascended into the air with a gentle breeze, from what must be a forges of burning coals, sending the hot metallic smell of iron to fill the air.
The cold air of the north blew high and dry, clenching the hardworking slaves from breaking a sweat from the hot sun, as they tirelessly worked within the trenches.
Those trenches were carved into a massive consistency of stone within the earth, sitting like a maze in the ground. The people of the stockade called it the trench. It rested within a large courtyard, surrounded with thick stone walls that were connected to a few stone structures.
The trenches was but as large as a small maze, maybe the size of a small lake within the ground, being surrounded by dirt paths that navigated its way through the stockade, yet within the boundaries of the walls. Wooden buildings were also built beside those paths, above the trenches and near the thick and defensive walls, suggesting that they were used as forges or places of storage. A few carriages were halted just above the trenches, beside the dirt path or next to a building, ready to get packed and transported.
The stockade was quite busy that day, guards strolled about, scouting the trenches to keep the slaves working. Slaves packed the carriages with wooden crates and bales of hay, the orders falling from the voices of the guards.
Above the trenches, scouted the trenchwatchers, keeping the slaves working. As a big man of a guard's steel-plated armour lightly clanked by each step taken, he'd scour through the network of intertwining trenches, keeping out watchful eye over the slaves as they swung their pickaxes at the walls of the stone beside them, the noise a constant clink and clank of pickaxe meeting stone.
"Hey!" he yelled, catching the fight of two male slaves within the corner of his eye, "you'll both get sent to the gallows!" he shouted, approaching the two slaves who brawled each other in the deepness of a trench.
The guard who shouted was still above the trenches, approaching them on the walls that were formed when the trenches got carved.
"Guys, don't… fight," Damian gnarled from within the trench, glinting at the two slaves who held their fists up at each other.
"This one…" a man accusingly pointed with sarcasm at his opponent, "must be told a lesson,"
"Damn it, Nathan," Victor quetched, his face discerning and slightly mad, "you're going to get yourself killed", he continued, seeing the guard approach them hurriedly.
Slaves gathered around to see the commotion, the shadow of the steep stone wall being thrown over them.
"You're going to get put to rest today," the other man said, his skin pale and thin over his cords of muscle, mocking Nathan with fists covered in gloves made from cloth.
The sound of a steel sword being pulled from a sheath caught Victor's attention, the moment he heard shuffling feet and a hard thud of a punch.
Damian reacted at the swing, throwing his attention at the sight of the man that Nathan punched tumble to the hard, cold and rough stone ground.
"Nathan, stop!" Damian demanded, closing his hands into fists as Nathan stepped towards the furious man on the ground.
Nathan bent down to grab the man's throat, before getting kicked to stagger against the rough surface of a wall behind him.
His opponent found his footing and spat blood to the ground, storming Nathan in a ragged shirt.
He went for a tackle but were kicked out of the way when Nathan swung a leg at his head, causing the man to once again, meet the ground.
A hard clatter of iron echoed through the air when a metallic thud hit the stone ground when the guard leapt onto his feet into the trench.
"Nathan, leave him!" Damian shouted, at the sight of Nathan's mass over his opponent, beating the man's face with swings from left and right.
Three hard steps from the juggernaut of a guard approached them, holding an aesthetic steel sword in his hand.
Sudden shock filled the breaths of surrounding slaves as the guard lifted his sword to strike a blow at Nathan.
Victor rushed with a quick reaction towards Nathan, diving at him to send them both skidding on the stone ground, just before Nathan's head almost got cut off.
"You little!" the guard worded with enraged anger, approaching the two on the ground.
The guard lifted his sword, readying an attack.
"Stop!" A mad voice yelled, "immediately!" it continued, the voice rough but clear.
Victor stood up from the ground, having a skid mark on his shoulder. Victor wore a sleeveless ragged shirt with tight, dark brown leather pants.
"What is going on here?" the furious voice questioned, seeing a beaten and helpless man on the ground, blood on the ground, a guard with his sword lifted, and a bruised Victor helping up his slave friend Nathan.
"Trenchkeeper, these two…"
"Go back to work soldier," the man commanded, interrupting the guard who spoke. The voice that came along was the Trenchkeeper.
The guard flashed an irritating gesture and madly trampled away through the group of slaves watching the action.
"Victor," Damian started, rushing towards him, "are you okay?" he inquired, glancing at Victor and Nathan.
The Trenchkeeper stood in front of them, hands-on-hips with an accusatory expression on his late fifties face that had dark eyes and a chiselled nose, his skin light and slightly aged.
He searched the three's faces, waiting for a reaction.
"You all know what this means," the trenchkeeper started, breaking the awkward silence, speaking in a tone of disappointment.
"Yes, trenchkeeper," Victor wisely responded, his tone embarrassed and respectful.
"Does the four of you…" he pointed, taking his sight from one victim to the other, ending his glance at the man on the ground, "…want to be punished for your acts?" he scoffed.
"No, trenchkeeper," Damian answered, his face downcast in his threat of what the consequences can be.
"Well, I guess it's time for the three of you to be punished,"
He grabbed Nathan's arm and tugged him out of Victor's hand.
"To damnation with you!" Nathan yelled, tugging away his arm from the trenchkeeper's grip.
"This shall be the death of you!" the trenchkeeper added, sadistically spilling his words.
Damian swallowed at the thought of what's coming, scared for their lives.
The thin structured man of a trenchkeeper looked at the worn-out and beaten man on the ground.
"Stand up you weak slave," he threatened, saliva spraying at his words as he pulled the man to his feet with aggression.
"I'll take it from here," a clear and thinly deep voice commenced.
The trenchkeeper shoved the pale man out of his hands to falter onto Victor, his muscles weak and spirit fatigued.
"What are you going to do to them?" the trenchkeeper jealously questioned as the blacksmith stepped into the scene. He was a handsome man, having blue eyes and dark hair, light skin and a lean structure, accompanied by a very short beard.
"I'm going to punish them through harder work," the blacksmith answered, "I'm not going to do anything to them, just punishment," he added, modulating his tone.
"How do you know what happened here…?" the trenchkeeper argued, "when your presence was absent?"
"I could ask you the same," the blacksmith deflected, leaving a wordless face on the trenchkeeper.
The blacksmith proudly stepped towards Victor and the two beside him, scanning their faces before sighing out a breath of slight exasperation.
"Come on you three. I have work for you," he claimed, walking away with a signal that the three of them should come, "and you…" he looked at the man Nathan fought, "get back to work."
"Come, Nathan," Damian motivated, holding a caring hand on his back as Victor started following the blacksmith.
"Tell me, how did it happen?" the blacksmith politely inquired, slowly moving an iron goblet filled with water towards Nathan on the wooden surface of the table.
Victor, Damian and Nathan sat on a bench with a wooden table, having iron goblets with them.
"I… can't remember," Nathan mumbled, sitting with his light-skinned arm on the table.
"It was an accident, actually," Victor stated, reflecting on the past event. The room they were in was the blacksmith's forge-house, boasting comfort within the atmosphere and a sense of home for Victor & Damian. The place was filled with things the blacksmith had forged, like weapons and strong armour. There were two heavy wooden doors at each side of the room, one opening up to the yard and the other obviously being the entrance. The four of them were seated at the bench in a corner of a room. The interior had no windows but a candle on each wall, flaring light into the room.
"What caused the accident?" the blacksmith asked, gesturing as he spoke.
"Umm," Damian wondered, glancing at Nathan.
"He mined at the stone wall for ore until he the other man got into his way," Victor started.
"Then I caused an ore to fall out of his arms," Nathan said, finishing Victor's sentence with an alluringly rough voice.
"One ore can mean a day without working," Damian started, "that's probably why the man wanted to fight you," he theorized.
To search for ore within the stone walls of that trench took weeks, if not months. When a slave would find an ore, it means freedom to them, well at least for a day. The stockade had no mercy for slaves. They were demanded to work hard every day, were it to mine in the trenches or sent into battle. Women would usually be gardening or maintaining the place, cooking for the authority of the place, or being abused by them. The most peaceful thing anyone would do as work at the stockade is fishing.
"Well, the three of you can be glad I saved your necks," the blacksmith said, standing up from the bench, "…again."
"We're thankful for that, Allaric," Victor thanked, biting his lower lip in slight embarrassment.
"It's my pleasure, none of you asked to be here," Allaric responded, getting a cloth fabric to wipe off the bench's table.
"Neither did you?" Victor said, almost asking.
"I had no choice, Victor," Allaric confessed, lifting his shoulders.
"How exactly did you get here?" Damian puzzled, thoughtful of Allaric's past.
"I can ask you the same question," Allaric responded, flapping the piece of cloth in the air to get off the excess dirt.
"I understand but, for all the years we've been enslaved, we've never heard about how you got here," Victor politely admitted.
"I'll tell you what," Allaric started, stepping back to the bench, "I'll tell you how I got here, then you tell me how three young lads like you got here," he suggested, sweeping the cloth on the table's surface.
"Okay, will do so," Nathan accepted, nodding his head.
"Before I start," Allaric spoke, "does anyone require another goblet of water?" he offered, with polite declines from their faces.
"So…" he started, finding his seat beside Nathan, facing Damian and Victor across him…
"I have a family living in the east… if they are still alive," he muttered. "For the century I've been here, I work in hopes that no one harms them," he spoke in explanatory action. The attentive eyes of the two across him listening carefully.
"When the Dark Union declared that they were going to overwhelm the eastern empire, it was too late for my family and me to move to another empire,"
"Where were you at that moment?" Victor inquired, his eyes concentrating.
"I was uh…" Allaric wondered, "I was in Providence," he declared, the place finding his memory.
"Is it a village or something?" Damian puzzled, never heard of a place like that.
"It's a port and a settlement, the town was also the first settlement of those who founded the Ocinite empire," he explained, throwing in some history and facts.
"Ocillium is an empire, right?" Nathan asked, needing reassurance from what he knew.
"Yes, the capitol kingdom is Ocillium," Allaric answered.
"Anyway…" he continued, "The town was raided and taken over by the damned… by the Dark Union," he said, controlling his anger.
"How did you lose your family?" Victor empathetically inquired, slightly tilting his head while biting his lower lip.
"They got into my house and threatened the family, after the years of rumours from what they did to other empires, I sacrificed myself in exchange for the safety of my family," he worded, controlling a confident tone.
"What happened then?" Damian asked, curiously.
"It seemed like they accepted my offer and they held me captive, sending me far up north to use my smithing skills in this stockade," he ended, done explaining.
"Do you think your family is still safe?" Nathan wondered aloud.
"I surely hope so, I forced them to run away during my sacrifice," Allaric answered.
"And you've been here for a decade?" Victor assumed.
"Yes." Assumption confirmed.
"That must be quite hard to deal with," Damian sympathized, feeling downcast in his sensitive emotions.
There was a moment of mourning silence that hung above them, only to be broken by a fresh breath of air from Allaric's lungs.
"Your turn, how did all of you get here?" Allaric inquired, glancing at each of them with curious happiness.
"Who shall go first?" Damian mystified, exchanging looks with Victor and giving it to Nathan.
"Long story short," Nathan started, "I was enslaved to scrub the hulls of ships and trading vessels or warships, then they found me as a useless scrubbing boy and decided to sell me as a slave in the black market," he explained, with slight haste in his words, earning surprising glares from the others.
"That's it," he placidly said.
Damian tilted his head with a lopsided frown of approval and wonder, while Victor slowly nodded his head up and down.
"Quite short, Nathan," Allaric affirmed.
"I guess it's our turn now," Damian presumed, turning his head to look at Victor.
"Where should we start?" Victor asked, looking for answers in Damian's face.
"When the two of us barely kept ourselves alive," Damian suggested.
"Yes," Victor accepted, turning his attention to Allaric, "for about two years, me and Damian needed to survive on our own, because…" he began.
"Where were your parents?" Allaric asked. Victor looked down and bit his lip in little dismay.
"Yeah, about that," Damian responded, "the village we grew up in was raided and burned. We both lost our family that night," he explained, the night unforgettable.
"…but," Victor started, "we made it out alive and decided that the orphanage would be too cruel to live in."
"After what we heard from other children," Damian added.
"So where did you go then?" Nathan curiously asked, gesturing while he spoke.
"We went from place to place, daily, to ask around for work to earn pennies," Damian responded.
"We travelled from village to village and did work for people like you, a blacksmith or a leatherworker. We sometimes cleaned taverns and inns in exchange for food or room to sleep." Victor pronounced, "even during the war," he added.
"Across the whole province or in an empire?" Nathan asked, interested in their past.
"Across the whole province," Damian answered, nodding his head.
"Why couldn't you stay in one Empire, or maybe work in a kingdom?" Allaric questioned.
"Because some villages had no work, others were burned down. Kingdoms we could not stay in for the risk of being forced into the war effort or being sent to the orphanage," Victor reasoned, using his hands to explain.
"Until we had a big opportunity to work for an apothecary," Damian said, "but the military force recognized that we were homeless,"
"Then we were on the run again but captured after seeking refuge in a cave,"
"I humbly wish better futures to the three of you," Allaric trusted.
"Same to you, Allaric," Damian smiled.
"I think I'll need to excuse you before the stockade realizes you're absent." Allaric proclaimed, standing up from the bench.
"Back to tireless work," Nathan sighed, scratching his head while coming to his feet.
"I'll keep an eye out for the three of you," Allaric assured, caring for the three of them.
"Thank you for saving our lives," Damian thanked as Allaric stepped to the door.
"Thank you for listening to me," Allaric responded, pushing the heavy wooden door for sunlight to stream through, followed by Damian exiting the room into the open.
Before Nathan could leave, he was halted by Allaric.
"Do not get yourself into trouble, next time I might not be there," Allaric lectured, caringly.
Nathan nodded in agreement and stepped out of the door, followed by Victor halting beside Allaric.
"For all the years you've helped us, I'm grateful that you're here," Victor sorrowfully thanked, almost emotional.
Victor exited the door onto the deck and found himself standing alone after the heavy wooden door slowly closed behind him.
"Damian," he called, wondering where his friends had gone as he hastily stepped from the deck into the dirt path at the sight of the trenches before him.
"Nathan?" He called, again.
"Hey, you!" a threatening voice shouted. Suddenly the comfort of one's presence disappeared and it was back into the dread he lived in each day. The friendliness and humble atmosphere disappeared with the exit through a door, now cast back into the atmosphere of tireless enslavement.
"What are you doing just standing there!" a steel-plated guard accused, approaching Victor with an intimidating rush.
Victor froze to the core of his soul when the guard aggressively grabbed his arm and tugged him away.
Where was he taking him now?