Page 36 of Eldritch
CHAPTER TEN
ZEVANDER
Past …
Zevander brought the sledgehammer down hard, shattering the glittery black rock into small shards—the ore of a dead vein that would be melted down and used for weapons. On rare occasions, they managed to chip away small chunks of vivicantem, which they were forced to turn over to the wardens, or risk unimaginable punishment.
Sometimes even death, depending on the size of the rock.
The unforgiving heat blazed across his back, his muscles glistening with sweat. Not long ago, he could barely stand the Solassion sun so long, nor lift the hammer in his hands that he now wielded with ease. His once scrawny frame had doubled in size, his muscles far more accustomed to the grueling labor. He stood on the edge of boy- and manhood—old enough to possess the steel lines of a man’s face and the wisdom of nearly two decades, but still too young to have lived through the kind of atrocities he’d seen during his time in the mines.
“Slow down, you exuberant cunt. You’re making us look bad.” Ravezio, his cellmate, hiked his hammer onto his shoulder, his chest rising and falling with exertion.
Zevander smiled and dragged the back of his hand across his damp brow. “Isn’t any fault of mine that you work like a drunken tome rotter after a bucket of ale.”
Ravezio snorted and brought his hammer down on the rock, splitting it in half. “I’d prefer a lifetime of analyzing tomes over this shit. Bucket of ale included.”
“Don’t talk about ale. Last I had a sip, I was damn near young enough to sit on my granddad’s lap.” Kazhimyr, his other cellmate and a fellow Lunasier, added.
“Didn’t you share a drink with the warden last week? Does he make you call him granddad?” Ravezio shot a sneering grin back at Kazhimyr and winked.
Entirely unamused, Kazhimyr glared back at his friend and lifted his hammer between them. “Keep flapping your jaw, and I’ll shove the pointed tip up your ass.”
“Fucking hell, at this point, even that sounds exciting.”
Shaking his head, Zevander snorted and hammered away again.
Jagron, a hulking orgoth prisoner who’d been promoted to sector guard, passed them, giving a small nod to Zevander. Due to their size and strength, a number of orgoth prisoners got promoted to guards. After all, a contented and well-fed orgoth was far more obedient and less violent than one subjected to abuse and labor.
While he had no love for the guards, or warden, Zevander had learned over the years that working hard and minding his business meant more food rations and fewer punishments.
He nodded back.
Ravezio leaned in and lowered his voice. “Heard he killed Morthok in the grist.”
The grist, or Bone Grist, as prisoners sometimes called it, was a favorite pastime for the guards—a means of entertainment in their otherwise vapid existence. Prisoners were often pitted against each other in a fight to the death. With new prisoners arriving daily, the guards felt it was a necessary means of thinning the population.
Sometimes, guards even fought each other as a means of eliminating their enemies.
Another perk of working hard—Zevander was rarely forced to fight these days.
“Morthok had a mouth the size of these caverns,” Zevander argued. “Bastard’s lucky he lasted this long.”
“Still, shit way to go, having your throat ripped out.”
The creaking sound from behind alerted him to the water cart, and the mere thought of cold fluids had his mouth watering. When he turned, a gaunt, but familiar face greeted him.
At first, Zevander could only stare. His heart slammed against his ribs, the thud in his ears so loud, he could hardly hear the hammering around him. A twitch of his muscles begged him to approach, but he couldn’t move.
“Father?” Zevander frowned, uncertain.
He hadn’t seen his father since they’d first arrived, and the man who stood before him right then looked to have wasted away in that time, his bones sharp and peeking through his mottled skin. Yet, he offered a pained smile, his dark, sunken eyes appraising him.
As angry as he may have been at one time, Zevander’s heart ached at the sight of him. How small and frail.
“You look in good health. Strong.” As his eyes appraised Zevander, they seemed to land on the many scars he’d earned over the last few years. A rheumy shield in his gaze wavered as ifhe would cry right then. Strange, seeing as he was the very man who’d taught him to hide his tears as a child.
“Get your drink and stop wasting the day!” Warden Vicarek barked through clenched teeth.
