Chapter Six: A Dance in the Dark (I)

"Well", asked Boris to no one specifically. "This is unexpected."

The travelers had descended through an ever-going ramp and reached a wide hall that seemed to be the entry point to the mines below. Dozens of rail lines lay side by side, though only a handful of carts were visible. At one point, a Republican lifeless body betrayed the little people's fate.

"Mine's full", said Raibeart.

"Even better", replied Jevalet. "They won't mind us, hopefully."

She approached one of the carts and looked casually at its working contraption. Republicans excelled in such practical devices and, once magic-wielders were available, would fill them with the best manner of improving the utility of any given item in their hands.

And so was the cart. "I think I know how to ride this", Boris said, raising an uncertain hand. "I really do. That's why I'm here, I suppose, to guide you under the ground?"

Ideal assented with a confident smile. "At last some dignity in you, gnome. We must go. Go deep down." He grew restless with each step they took further, interpreting as a sign that they must be on the right path. Deep down the mines, where else would he find whatever he was looking for?

The others seemed to confirm this assumption, no words required. Pair by pair, they climbed in the carts and locked them onto each other. As Boris activated the ignition handle, it sparked with the smallest runes carved on its surface and made the convoy move forward. Slowly at first, the travelers gathered some speed and in a few moments were riding up and down in the relentless, lightning fast railings of the Steadfast Republic.

The trip was quick - too quick for some - and not free of challenges. As the lanes criss-crossed and the carts switched rails, a few white orcs tried to halt them and bust them off the high speed course, but as soon as they got rid of them, they felt the carts subdue and the wind blow meeker on their ears.

"Is it here?", asked Boris. The carts cringed slowly, pulling themselves amid hundreds of other carts gathered together in parallel rails that loomed away into the darkness. 

Jevalet jumped off and raised a finger to her lips. Following her lead, the travelers walked closed to a wall and went along to flickering lights that shone at the end of the tunnel. A few voices and grunts reached them. They recognized the complains of the miners, countless peoples forced into labor by unruly masters.

"Slavery!", Raibeart growled, the first time he spoke since they crossed the inner gates.

"Forward", pushed Jevalet, a strange gleam to her eyes. "It's here."

And as if unveiled by a sudden flash of light, they saw that the tunnels ended abruptly right into a cave which bore ruins that made them all shiver in anticipation.

Columns so great they reached the darkness upon their heads lay ingrained in the rocky walls, holding phantom structures only hinted by the fragments and bones of old days. Torches, carried or poised on sticks in the ground, misguided the perception and made the shadows of the passers-by giants in the figure of the forgotten building.

Ideal saw a vague resemblance to the architecture of Tiefenland, but could not recall any specific reference. Boris ignored entirely the nature of that civilization, though he could put an effort on doing so if only he could distract himself from the moving backs of the white orcs that roamed the place. They moved with plan and purpose, in such a rare display of organization that disturbed the travelers. The miners suffered the most from such enterprise, bearing the whippings on their backs as they strove to find whatever was required of them.

"There's probably some strong leader commanding these clans. Either that, or a threat so dangerous that they can only hope for survival", considered Jevalet, as she waited for an opening. The orcs moved up and down in the cave like bees in a hive concocting some master plan not of their own. Most of all, they seemed to focus on a giant pit at the feet of an entrance marbled and tall that forewarned the ruins' magnificence.

However, as they stepped in the outskirts of the visible light marking the floor, they heard a booming growl and stopped. The voiced challenge reverberated against rocky surfaces and streamed all the way into the cave, immediately interrupting the orcs in their affairs and leading their hands to prepare the oncoming conflict.

In the blink of an eye, masses of white orcs under different banners rushed into the place and thrashed and fought like rabid dogs. They all looked ravaged and weary, either from combat or journey, grunting at each other for reasons unknown, though it could only be assumed it was but a chapter in the annals of orcish politics.

Jevalet wanted to lose no time. Detaching from the group without warning, she lunged into the chaos and vanished from sight behind the dusty clouds of war. Boris looked around in dizziness only to notice Ideal was nowhere in sight; Raibeart, battleborn, had already stretched his bow searching for a likely target. The clash among clans was innocuous: as long as he pierced a dozen white orcs he would feel fine about himself. Also, he owed that to Faye, at least that much.

But then he heard a ravenous battlecry coming from the insides of the giant hole.

Climbing up the access ladder, the tallest white orc he had ever seen made her way to the highest point of advantage in the area. Bearing a bloodied scepter and eyes so sharp they could cut through rock and stone, she scrutinized the newcomers and growled aggressively, to which many hailed and conferred.

Raibeart realized that if a power must be strong enough to harness the loyalty of orcish clans, then it lied in that creature that stood atop that half broken pillar from times long gone.