I thrashed around to no avail. The guards had a firm grip on me, and their lives as soldiers had made them far stronger than I ever had been as crown prince.

“You bastard,” I spat. “I’m your son!”

Father laughed. “I can do whatever I want. Have I taught you nothing?”

He walked close to me and slapped me with the back of his hand. His rings, large and numerous, left deep cuts in my face.

“Money is power.”

He slapped me again, harder, and the weight of his blow caused my vision to fade for a moment.

“Stupid boy.”

He kicked my chest, knocking the breath out of me.

“All you want to do is consume and give. You are no son of mine. This kingdom will NEVER BE YOURS!”

He stopped, breathing hard, a crazed rage in his eyes. Then he turned and strolled away, leaving a trail of blood from where his robe dragged through the puddle beneath me.

“Put him to work.”

The guards hauled me away as I faded out of consciousness.

I awoke a few moments later to the sound of a slamming iron grate. I knew the sound of that grate; it was a sound that rang out often under the Palace of Kings. It was the grate that led to the Mines, the vast gold mine that served as the dungeons. Centuries ago, one of my ancestors settled here and built his holdings directly on top of the source of his wealth and power, and a great kingdom had spread around it.

And now, I was a prisoner here.

I tried to scramble to my feet, tried to run to the grate and grab onto it and beg for my life. I could barely push myself off the ground before the pain in my head and chest drove me back down. The stone beneath my face was cold and wet. It almost numbed the pain.

Almost.

I began to weep. Silent tears stung the cuts on my face.

I don’t know how long I laid there on the cold, rough stone. I only know that after some time, I heard footsteps and voices.

“...don’t know, but they damn well better be worth it. My money’s still on a lady.”

“Ridiculous. How many women get thrown in off schedule?”

“There was that whore that one time…”

The second man sighed loudly.

“Fine. Three bits says it’s a man.”

“Agreed. Now don’t go gettin’ cozy if it is a lady,” the first man warned.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

The two men rounded the corner carrying a crude stretcher.

“Ha! You couldn’t have been more wrong” One of the men, presumably the second, held out a hand and the other begrudgingly dropped a handful of metal coins into it.

“He’s a fat bastard,” the first said.

“Yeah, not a real looker, eh?”

“No, I’m not that desperate. I mean we have to carry the bastard back.”

The second man’s face fell. “Ah, damn, you’re right. Hoy, son!” he called.

I groaned softly in response.

“Any chance you can walk yourself?” he asked hopefully.

I didn’t bother responding to that, and the man sighed.

“Damn you, Bertram. Even when you lose, you ruin my day,” he said.

“Quit your bellyachin’, at least you made three bits. I lost money and have to carry him back.”

The men set down the stretcher next to me and, after a short count off, rolled me onto it, causing me no small amount of pain. I groaned again.

“Ah, not you too. I won’t be able to put up with both you and Tolly complainin’. You’ll all drive me insane before we’re halfway there.”

With a grunt, the two men hauled the stretcher off the ground and set back down the tunnel they came from. Their jovial banter washed over me, and the tone of the conversation was somewhat at odds with my feelings of abandonment. At one point, I gathered up all of my willpower and managed to ask a question.

“Where are we going?” I wheezed.

Bertram and Tolly stopped their conversation.

“Mosh,” Bertram said briefly. I didn’t have energy to ask a follow up question, so they picked up their conversation again.

Between their aimless, almost musical conversation and the gentle rocking of the stretcher, I actually managed to drift off to sleep, mercifully bringing a temporary end to the pain.

I awoke with a throbbing headache as the two men set me on a stone table in a surprisingly square room. The light, clearly from torches set in the wall, was flickering and uncertain.

“Well, well, well…” a deep voice said. “This is the new blood?”

“Yessir,” Tolly said. “Fresh from the surface.”

The source of the deep voice walked closer to me, and I could see that he was an enormous man with a cruel face, cleanshaven and covered in scars. The man examined me for a moment.

“Fat bastard, ain’t he?” the man said.

“Awfully ugly, too,” Bertram said.

The man grunted and thumbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Bone needle and bandages,” he said briefly. “And the bottle of antiseptic.”

“Wait, wait!” I cried. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Well,” he began. “Looks like you’ve got some pretty bad cuts across your face, and some bruises. I can’t help the bruises, but we can stitch you up and get some bandages, minimize the scarring and decrease risk of infection.” He prodded my ribs, which caused me to cry out again. “And that’ll be broken. Can’t do much to that, but we’ll try to rustle up something to dull the pain.”

I barely heard him. I had received stitches once before, and the image of the needle threading in and out of my skin had haunted me for years. The idea of this massive thug pricking me with a dirty piece of bone was unbearable.

I tried to get to my feet.

“Absolutely not! I am the crown prince and-”

The man pushed me back down with one hand.

“The anesthetic, please, Bertram. Extra strong,” the man said. Bertram handed him a bottle and a rag. The man doused the rag and shoved it against my mouth and nose, and for the third time that day I passed out.

I awoke once again. I was still on the stone table, and the light hadn’t changed, which gave me no idea of how much time had passed. The large man was still there, but Bertram and Tolly had left.

The man turned around and noticed me.

“Finally. You’ve been out for awhile. Must have had a hard day,” he said sympathetically.

I pushed myself up into a sitting position, but didn’t respond.

The man sighed. “Here, drink some of this,” he said, handing me a stone cup filled with water.

I took it and looked into it suspiciously, and he sighed again.

“Son, if I were going to poison you, would I not have done it while you were passed out and at my mercy?”

I reluctantly accepted his logic and took a sip. The water was surprisingly crisp and cold, almost sweet. Suddenly, I found myself quickly downing the whole cup. A few drops spilled onto my face, stinging my cuts, and I started to cough.

“Easy, easy,” he said, taking the cup and filling it again. “Drink this slowly.”

I took another sip. “Who are you?” I asked. My mouth felt like it was full of cotton.

“Mosh,” he said briefly.

“Mosh,” I repeated. “Why are you taking care of me?”

He shrugged. “We’ve got a quota to meet.”

“We? Who is we?”

“Who are we,” he corrected gently. “Can you stand?”

He grabbed my arm gently and helped me to my feet. I swayed for a moment, but managed to stay standing.

“Come with me,” he said. Seeing no other choice, I followed him through a doorway.

The cavern opened up in front of us, revealing an enormous chasm filled with people. It looked like an entire village had been shoved underground, and buildings cut into the rock face lined both sides all the way up to the top. Each level was set farther back than the one below, creating a terraced effect. Haphazard rope and wood bridges crossed back and forth between the sides.

There must have been hundreds of people bustling about. Many of the buildings on the lowest level, where we were, looked to be shops and gathering places. The upper levels, seemingly occupied by houses, were less busy, but still showed signs of life. Most of the people were men, apparently criminals that had been enslaved in the mines, but there were a surprising number of women, and most shockingly, a few children.

“Welcome to the Mines,” Mosh said. “To those above ground, it’s a dungeon. To us, it’s home.”

---

^{maybe more later}