Stone and Blood: Act 4, Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Florine squeezed through the crowded city street, looking back and forth as she tried to take in the happenings around her. Now that the fighting was over, the streets and the buildings were illuminated with an eerie blue flame that afforded her a better view of the city and its activities.
Everywhere, Dark Dwarf and slave alike toiled away as they cleaned up and restored the damage left in the wake of the weeks-long battle for Khazanar. If she were to describe the scene as a whole, it would be busy – far busier than anything she has ever seen, making places like the imperial capital of Arwintar seem like a small town by comparison.
Everything was in constant motion. Yet, even so, chaos was kept at bay by a distinct order that was discernible at a glance. The city thoroughfares were divided into different lanes and tracks. Everyone was going somewhere with some purpose in mind and no one stopped to talk or look around. The only things that seemed to ever pause in their journey were the rail cars, which followed their tracks into berths every few hundred metres where various containers awaited loading.
The system was not unlike what the Sorcerous Kingdom was currently adopting, though things were scaled down to be handled by slave labour. A rail car went by them, stopping at a berth just ahead. Florine did her best to see how they operated as they walked by. An Ogre moved a steel cart loaded with a cargo bin filled with refuse onto the awaiting rail car, which was exactly level with the platform beside it. The cart slotted itself smoothly into the rail car and the rail car was moving again before Florine had fully passed it.
Similar scenes repeated themselves everywhere along the street and Florine was hard-pressed to continue comparing the Dwarves before her to the Dwarves that she knew. In a word, the Dark Dwarves of Khazanar appeared to be far more advanced than the Azerlisian Mountain Dwarves in at least a military, logistical, and broadly organisational sense.
“How much work does it take to maintain so much precision machinery?” Florine asked.
“Not much,” Velgath answered. “This way.”
They turned a street corner, going up a road line with the same, ubiquitous architecture that Florine had seen everywhere in Felhammer. Every building was monolithic in proportions and she felt like she was walking between fortress walls wherever she went.
“Most things have at least minor enchantments on them,” Velgath told her as they continued on.
“I see,” Florine said. “I was wondering why there was less collateral damage than there should have been. At least if the conflict was in a Human country. In that case, what is it that’s burning in the other principalities?”
“There are plenty of things in a city that can burn,” Velgath shrugged. “Food. Garbage. People.”
For some reason, absolutely no one in the city seemed to care that the rest of Khazanar was being invaded. Prince Felhammer’s order to restore the principality’s industries took precedence over everything and even the Prince himself showed no sign of concern. If anything, he was pleased by the turn of events.
Should the Sorcerous Kingdom really stand by while an act of pure spite consigns millions of people to their deaths?
One might argue that it would have happened anyway considering the root cause of the invasion appeared to be negligence. Prince Felhammer asserted that the council had grown lax in their border security and had allowed its enemies to build up in the nearby portions of the Middle Realms. They were getting what they deserved, in more ways than one.
Additionally, the Sorcerous Kingdom wasn’t obliged to save foreign polities from the consequences of their own actions, nor did they desire to establish any such premise.
“Feel free to take a look around,” Velgath told her.
Florine examined their surroundings, trying to figure out where they were.
“What is this place?” She asked.
“Residental quarters for slaves,” Velgath answered.
“Is it alright to just wander around freely?”
“Here, yeah. The places closest to the citadel have been cleaned up so you don’t have to step over any corpses. You wanted to see what things were like normally, yeah?”
When a disreputable establishment ‘cleaned up’, it usually meant that they were doing away with anything that might get them in trouble with the authorities. Since the Dark Dwarves were the authorities, however, she was almost certain that they didn’t care about looking good in front of her.
Florine went tentatively to the closest door, which was more like a gatehouse built into the side of the building. A pair of Goblins equipped with spears and plate mail looked up at her from their posts.
“New slaves?” One of them asked.
“Yes,” Florine answered.
The sentry rapped his gauntlets against the portcullis of the gave. A female Goblin came out a few seconds later.
“New slaves,” the sentry told her.
A few moments went by as the female Goblin looked over them with a frown. Then, she gestured for them to follow with a grunt. The sentries levelled their spears at Isoroku when it tried to enter with them.
“Girls only,” one of them said.
“But Isoroku doesn’t have a gender,” Florine said.
“Girls only.”
Does the simplicity of Goblins make them good security or bad security?
That question aside, they were quite brave to brandish their weapons at an Elder Lich. A common Human sentry would have probably run away at the sight of one.
“Please wait here,” she told Isoroku. “I’ll share my report with you later.”
The inside of the building had the same severe motif as its exterior. It was, however, not filled with cells for slaves as Florine expected. Scents of cooked food filled the corridors and they eventually emerged in a large hall where dozens of Goblins were dining, chatting between themselves, and lounging about. The floors and furniture were nearly spotless and there was no trace of the unpleasant scent that one usually associated with Goblins.
“One day, eat three times,” the Goblin guiding them said. “Bath twice. Change clothes once.”
Several Goblins stared up at her as they walked through to the other side of the hall. They passed a room with water flowing from a spout above that their guide called the ‘bath’ and stopped at the door opposite the corridor to it. A pungent aroma wafted from within.
“Med…med…sick room,” the Goblin told them. “Get ouchies, see shaman.”
Florine poked her head inside. Four Goblins sat at a set of counters. The pungent odour appeared to be whatever they harvested for salves and tinctures in the Realms Below.
Not just salves and tinctures – there’s alchemical equipment in the back…
“Do they make potions here, too?” Florine asked.
“Potion here,” the Goblin answered. “Not for keep.”
The Goblins in the medical room looked up at the sound of their discussion. Florine withdrew her head and they continued down the corridor.
This isn’t just some elaborate show put on for my sake, is it?
She kept asking herself the same question as they walked along, but kept arriving at the same answer. The Dark Dwarves had no reason to hide anything from her. No one would expect a bunch of Goblins to coordinate a grand deception, either.
After descending twenty flights of stairs and passing ten underground floors, the Goblin led them down a long corridor, stopping a few dozen metres in.
“Sleep here.”
Their guide gestured to an open door before fumbling for something at her waist. She pulled out a set of keys and held them out to Florine. Once Florine took them in hand, the Goblin left the way that she came.
The room contained two bunk beds and had enough space for four simple drawers and a table with four chairs. The sheets were clean and no particular odour could be detected from the room itself. Florine sat down on one of the beds, finding the mattress to be fashioned from stone.
At least there’s one thing that I’d imagined a slave would be subjected to…
Then again, the beds in her state room were also made from stone so it probably didn’t count. She stared at an empty picture frame on the wall for a few seconds before she realised it was probably a blank calendar used to keep track of the occupants’ schedules.
“Lady Shalltear will surely be pleased,” the Vampire Bride said.
Florine looked up at the Undead handmaiden.
“Pleased about what?” She asked.
“That you so readily accepted becoming a Goblin slave,” the Vampire Bride answered. “It seems that what they say about the quiet ones is true. This will surely help our mistress decide what direction is best for you.”
Florine exchanged a look with Boobeebee, who waggled her antennae unknowingly.
“I only said that because I thought it would be easier to see things from the slaves’ perspective,” Florine said. “But this…don’t you think it’s strange? The housing here is far better than the apartments in E-Rantel’s common area. I thought the slaves here would be subjected to squalid conditions, but everything is nice and clean and well-maintained. They’re fed regularly and the residents don’t appear to be distressed. There are even healers stationed on-site.”
“Yes, I suppose you have a point,” the Vampire Bride said. “One would think it should look at least as entertaining as the great hall of Felhammer Citadel.”
Entertaining?
The difference in opinion about what was ‘entertaining’ aside, the Vampire Bride was right. Given how evil and cruel the Dark Dwarves were, Florine expected at least a few torture devices to ‘discipline’ slaves with.
“Did you notice anything strange about this place at all?” Florine asked.
“Aside from what we discussed, no,” the Vampire Bride answered.
With little else to discuss, they left the room and went back up the stairs. The Goblin guide stopped them as they approached the exit of the building.
“Where go?”
“We have to continue working,” Florine told her.
It technically wasn’t a lie, but she felt horrible anyway. She had discovered nothing that justified the silly way of entering and now she was going to leave an undoubtedly confused Goblin manager – or whatever she was – behind.
The Goblin waved them through. Outside, Florine couldn’t quite meet Velgath’s gaze.
“Have fun?” The Dwarf woman asked.
Florine sighed.
“Are all of the buildings here the same?”
“If you mean a residential area for slaves, then yes,” Velgath said. “The dormitories are divided by race and sex. Slaves from races that aren’t common down here are usually tossed in with the Goblins assuming that they can fit in.”
“Is there a specific reason why you’re segregating all of the different races?” Florine asked.
Velgath gave her an odd look.
“I’ll let you think long and hard about that one,” she said.
“…because they might eat each other? Or maybe fight?”
“Hah? What are you talking about? They’re segregated because they’re different races. Do you think a bunch of Stone Giants will fit in that Goblin dormitory? Or that Goblin kitchens have the capacity to feed Trolls?”
“Oh. Then why are you keeping males and females apart?”
“That’s an even dumber question than the other one,” Velgath said. “Can you imagine many Goblins we’d have here if we stuck them together? Only the best slaves get to breed.”
The Dark Dwarves were so evil that she had forgotten that they were also coldly practical. Or maybe it was that evil that allowed them to be so coldly practical.
Florine looked at the dormitory gate again with its pair of heavily-armed guards. If she thought about things in a purely practical sense, then the reason why things were the way that they were was because slaves were valuable assets. It wasn’t as if the slaves were being treated to luxurious conditions. The massive scale of construction in Khazanar combined with its clear tendency to standardise things probably meant that the dormitories were actually quite cheap to build and maintain.
“We done here?” Velgath asked.
“Yes, thank you,” Florine answered. “Next–”
“There’s a next?”
“–I’d like to see how you train these slaves.”
Velgath turned around without a word, leading them further along the narrow street until they reached another major thoroughfare. There, they went down a long ramp, arriving at a platform filled with Dark Dwarves and slaves alike. Within minutes, a train of rail cars rolled up and stopped in front of them. Florine let out a small cry as she was literally pushed along with the crowd and onto the nearest car.
Without warning, the Golem propelling the vehicle accelerated. She would have fallen to the ground if the passengers weren’t packed together so tightly. She started when something felt up the inside of her skirt.
“Wh-what was that?!”
“It was me,” Boobeebee said from inside her skirt.
“She fits onto a passenger car better than a Goblin,” Velgath grumbled.
The acceleration stopped but, without any landmarks to serve as a reference, Florine couldn’t tell how fast they were travelling.
“Where are we going?” Florine asked.
“Three stations down the line,” Velgath answered. “That’s the closest we’ll get before having to walk.”
Ten minutes later, the train decelerated and stopped in front of another platform. Florine struggled as a tide of people threatened to sweep her off. Then the people coming in nearly ejected her off of the other side.
“This is crazy,” Florine said. “How do you people live like this?”
“You get used to it,” Velgath said.
No sane person would ever want to ‘get used to’ such a thing. Two stops later, Florine thankfully found herself standing on the ‘surface level’ of the city again. The crowds that she thought were ludicrous before didn’t look so bad anymore.
“Come to think of it,” Florine said. “Where did all these people come from? The streets only had soldiers during the battle.”
“Ninety per cent of Felhammer’s urban area is below this level.”
“So the battle was under us, as well?”
“We came from under the city if you somehow forgot,” Velgath frowned at her.
“So how did all the slaves figure into the conflict?” Florine asked.
“I’m pretty sure you saw that, too,” Velgath answered. “Unless they’re battle thralls, they’re spoils of war. Since non-combat slaves avoid the fighting, they’d be picked up last.”
If one considered it in broad terms, the way that the Dark Dwarves waged war wasn’t too different from how Humans did between themselves. Armies of designated combatants were fielded against one another while the civilian population awaited the results. While raiding rural regions was not unheard of, it was rare for sieges to occur and even rarer for urban centres to be sacked. Capturing the economic potential of a territory fully intact was the best possible outcome and most wars were conducted with that objective in mind.
“Come to think of it,” Florine said, “I haven’t seen any Dwarven residences aside from the holds. Do they live anywhere else?”
“The columns,” Velgath gestured toward the massif that spanned between Felhammer Citadel and the western end of the principality. “This entire ‘city’ we’ve been travelling through is industry along the main thoroughfares and housing for slaves built on the back lanes.”
“With so many people here, I have to wonder where all of your food comes from.”
“Farms.”
“Farms? But where?”
“I think you’re still grossly underestimating how much larger the Realms Below are than the surface,” Velgath said. “Every principality has plenty of space to raise enough livestock to feed itself.”
“Really? I’d like to see that.”
Velgath cast her a sidelong glance.
“I’m afraid to ask why you sound so much more excited about that. Wait – it’s the Goblins, isn’t it?”
“Huh?” Florine blinked, “Oh, no, it’s because the primary industries of my demesne revolve around raising livestock.”
“So you were a Nuk rancher before being put in charge of the entire Abelion Hills. That’s quite the leap. The closest farm is…hmm, this way.”
They descended a nearby ramp and it wasn’t long before Florine detected the familiar odours of a nearby pasture, which was strange considering they were underground. Their journey eventually took them to a huge mushroom grotto with one side exposed to the chasm over the lake far below.
“Here’s your Goblins,” Velgath said. “Happy?”
Indeed, there were plenty of Goblins tending to the herds of Nuk. The subterranean variety of Nuk was smaller than those found in the Azerlisia Mountains, though only by a few hundred kilograms. They had the same, shaggy hides and curved horns as their overland cousins and there was little discernible difference between those before her and the ones that the Dwarves and Quagoa raised under the Azerlisia Mountains.
Nuk were supposedly one of the most prolific herd animals in the entire world, with a species adapted for every terrestrial environment. Those adaptations always had something to do with that environment and could include magical abilities. Subterranean employed illusion magic, using dancing lights to silently communicate over long distances with their fellows.
“I noticed Goblins tending to Nuk in Evisiaree’s grotto,” Florine said. “Is it a common practice in the Realms Below?”
“Yep,” Velgath yawned. “It’s so easy that even Goblins can do it. Herding Nuk is so common that wild Nuk will just join a domesticated herd on their own if they happen to run into one. Well, subterranean Nuk, anyway. I’ve no idea what the ones elsewhere do.”
The Frost Giants hadn’t mentioned anything about that. It was an idea worth testing out, though seeing whether a twelve hundred kilogram wild beast wouldn’t trample one into the ground if they got close to them made it a considerable risk.
“So you claim the merits to your form of slavery include freeing up Dwarves from occupations like this…what else do they do?”
“I think you’ve seen most of it,” Velgath said. “Aside from battle thralls, our slaves mostly work in agriculture, logistics, mining, and unspecialised labour.”
“They don’t work in industries that require skilled labour?”
“They can, but…are we done here?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good. It’s easier to show you how it’s done than it is trying to explain it.”
Velgath led her back the way they came. Half an hour later, they arrived at a massive ziggurat that was even larger than the fortified holds presiding over each city.
“This is it,” Velgath told her. “The Refinery. Every slave delivered to Khazanar is processed by this facility.”
“…processed?”
Florine stopped at the gate of the ziggurat’s massive defensive wall. Or was it a containing wall? The Dark Dwarf soldiers stationed everywhere suggested that it was the latter.
“Yeah, processed,” Velgath stopped and turned to look up at Florine. “Oh, don’t get lost or you might get processed, too.”
Florine scurried over to join the Dwarf woman with a sense of foreboding.
Refinery…processed…what is with these terms?
“Velgath?” An officer at the front entrance peered at them, “This is rare. You’re bringing in a Zern and two…what the hell are those?”
“Humans from the surface,” Velgath said. “They’re from the Sorcerous Kingdom.”
“Ah, that new Undead country that everyone’s talking about.”
“Yeah. This one wanted to see how we trained our slaves.”
“I see,” the officer looked over his shoulder. “Your father hasn’t brought in any slaves for months, so you’ll have better luck starting from the top rather than the bottom.”
“Will do,” Velgath said.
They parted ways with the officer, taking a ramp leading up through a seemingly endless spiral of corridors lined with metal doors.
“So why is it called ‘The Refinery’?” Florine asked.
“I don’t know who named it that,” Velgath said, “but it makes sense to me. It’s like an Alchemist’s distillation apparatus, yeah? Slaves get thrown in and The Refinery separates them into different things.”
It sounded a bit like the public education system that Yuri Alpha was proposing. Students who entered the system would be separated into ‘grades’. At the end of the school year, they would undergo testing to see whether they were qualified to progress to the next highest grade. Liane was fully supportive of the idea, but Clara had doubts about whether that method was of any use beyond ensuring that students had an elementary education.
As they ascended the ziggurat, the presence of Dark Dwarf soldiers grew more scarce. Velgath stopped at a door that had none at all, opening it to reveal not a classroom, but a luxurious suite. Florine looked in, scanning the tables stocked with well-prepared food and posh accommodations. Then she stopped and withdrew back into the corridor when she realised that more than a few of the slaves were having sex.
“It’s like I said, right?” Velgath told her, “Only the best slaves get to breed. The first round happens at the end of training just in case accidents happen.”
“…how do you determine which slaves are the best?”
She already had a sense that she was going to regret asking, but she couldn’t just give up on obtaining potentially useful information for the Sorcerous Kingdom. Velgath shut the door behind her and strolled back down the ramp.
“Not all people are born equal,” Velgath said. “Of course, that means not all slaves are both equal. The Refinery is the institution that sorts them out.”
The Dwarf opened the next door, which was again without guards. This time, the interior resembled a workshop. Members of a few different races toiled away at their places under the watchful eye of Dwarves not adorned in arms and armour, but the accoutrements of artisans.
“This is the actual final stage of training,” Velgath said. “Every slave here is already capable of producing masterwork goods. Now, they’re trying to work with mithril and the other materials of similar quality.”
“It sounds incredibly expensive to train them.”
“Sure is,” Velgath said. “That’s why the ones who pass are sold at incredible prices. They go to the best workshops in Khazanar…well, they used to. Most of them end up as assistants to Grandmaster artisans.”
“What about the ones that don’t pass?” Florine asked.
“They’re graded as the rank that they came from,” Velgath answered. “Those slaves are only sold for a hundredth of the price, but it’s still a fair sum.”
As with the room before, the workshop didn’t seem oppressive in any way, though the trainees were probably under a great deal of professional pressure. Velgath quietly shut the door and continued down the ramp.
Florine considered what she was seeing. Replicating what was going on in the refinery appeared to be a simple matter. If framed in a different way, it was equivalent to having an educational institution where training was subsidised by the people running it. If the operator was a government, then returns would be made from the economic contributions that graduates made when they joined the workforce.
We can definitely do this.
They were more than ready to do it. The Sorcerous Kingdom had the wealth, stability, and will to create a system of education that could produce similar results. Now that she thought about it, Ludmila was already far ahead of everyone else on that front.
Velgath stopped at the next door. Florine leaned forward, eager to see what the next room contained. The portion of education that it represented was probably the most challenging for the Sorcerous Kingdom to facilitate. Before Velgath could open the door, however, the door opened itself.
A screech preceded the appearance of a Goblin, who dashed out into the corridor. She didn’t get far before a whip from the guard at the door tripped her up. Florine stared in mute horror as the other guard came forward with a baton and proceeded to club the Goblin senseless.
“That can still happen at this level,” Velgath offered her offhanded commentary.
“Why does it happen at all?” Florine’s voice trembled.
“Didn’t get the independent streak beaten out of them,” the Dwarf shrugged. “It usually happens earlier.”
The guards tossed the Goblin back into the room and shut the door. Before it did, Florine caught a glimpse of dozens of slaves pointedly ignoring the scene as they worked on their tasks.
“Hey,” Velgath addressed a guard. “What’s the lowest working level right now?”
“Next one,” the guard answered.
Velgath strolled off. Florine followed with leaden steps, dreading what was next. Her fears were made manifest when a cart filled with corpses rolled out of the next room.
“I thought that you said that Nuk herding was something even a Goblin could do,” Florine said as she wiped away her tears.
“It is,” Velgath replied. “Those that don’t show any potential get sent out to do the most basic jobs, but those fellows were too stubborn to keep their heads down.”
Another cart filled with corpses rolled out of the room, followed by another.
“Like I said,” Velgath smiled proudly at the sight. “Calling it The Refinery suits this place perfectly. You’re either a useful product, or you’re slag.”
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