It took all of Tomaaz’s nerve not to twitch. He glanced at the slaves either side of him, then drooped his head. The stench of unwashed bodies and soiled breeches crept through his nostrils. He fought back a gag, breathing through his mouth, but the taste coated his tongue.
The valley widened, and the slaves slowed to pick up tools from various piles—shovels, spades, pickaxes and grubbers. Under the watchful eye of hulking tharuks armed with whips, those with pickaxes and grubbers traipsed into rifts in the hillside that oozed the foul-smelling mist. Tomaaz grabbed a shovel and followed a column of slaves heading further along the valley. They passed large sprawling buildings, outdoor cooking fires and a few caves with thick metal doors set into the entrances. Doors Tomaaz had never seen the likes of, with strange dials inscribed with numbers and long metal rods protruding from them. Locks?
Was Ma being held in one of these? Or was she another nameless slave traipsing to work on the valley floor or venturing into the bowels of the mountains? Was she even alive? She had to be. He hadn’t come to this hell for nothing. He had to find her. The first opportunity he had, he’d slink off and look around.
“You lot!” the lead tharuk bellowed, “along here.” It pointed up a valley branching off the main one.
The slaves trooped mindlessly after their tharuk leader into a stench-filled fug that made the inside of Tomaaz’s nose crawl. Worse than the stench of the slaves, it was overpowering. Of course, no one around him reacted, all shuffling forward with their mindless gait.
They rounded a corner to a row of crude sheds, the stink making Tomaaz’s eyes water. He stifled a groan. He’d chosen latrine duty.
Commander Zens
Days later, Marlies was still dizzy. Chewing herbs was helping the infection in her arm, but the thin gruel and mangy bread Scar Snout brought her each day weren’t doing much to restore her strength. Her stomach was a constant gnawing hole. And this damp stone floor wasn’t exactly paradise. She’d been tempted to use piaua on her arm, but she only had one vial left, and that was her only defense against Zens’ torture.
Scuffing footfalls neared the cave.
Marlies lay down, pretending she was weaker than she was.
“You!” It was the tracker who’d caught her, the one with 555 tattooed inside its left wrist.
Scar Snout trailed it into the cave.
“Stand,” 555 commanded.
Scar Snout cut the rope around Marlies’ ankles.
The blood rushed into her feet, making them fuzzy and achy. Leaning against the wall, she flexed them.
“Human,” 555 spat. “Zens wants to see you.”
See her? More likely torture or kill her. Marlies staggered to the entrance.
“Pathetic!” 555 snorted. It threw her up onto its shoulder, and strode along the ravine.
When they reached the valley, a column of dead-faced slaves traipsed past them, staring at the ground.
She turned her head from side to side, trying to signal the slaves behind the tharuks’ backs. No response. No one spoke or even looked at her. Gods, this was awful. They were shells, not registering what went on around them. Deep in the grip of Zens’ plant extracts, they headed into caverns in the hillside.
“Stop wriggling!” 555 put her down. “Walk.”
She shuffled along the bleak valley, between her two captors. The tharuks stopped before an iron door in the mountainside. Scar Snout restrained her, digging its claws into her arm to keep her still. 555 opened the door, leading Marlies into a tunnel that led past a series of wooden doors. Storerooms? Somehow she doubted it. Dungeons, more like.
At the end of the tunnel, tharuk 555 knocked on a large door. It was opened by an enormous tharuk, bigger than any she’d seen. Although this beast was furry, the inside of its arm was completely bald and emblazoned with a tattoo that took up its whole forearm: 000. Marlies knew tharuks had numbers on the inside of their wrists, but a whole forearm? Then she remembered Tonio the spymaster’s lessons.
Zens’ most formidable tharuk is 000, his first creation. Strong, cunning and possessing better mental faculties than all other tharuks, Triple Zero is like a son to Zens. Loyal and completely devoted, he’s almost as dangerous as Zens himself. Zens’ later creations are weaker specimens with only part of Triple Zero’s talents. We suspect Zens made them that way to keep them subservient.
“Welcome,” 000 smiled, showing sharp yellowed teeth and tusks.
Polite as well.
The tharuks pushed Marlies into a large chamber. Torches were blazing, their flames reflected on a smooth shiny rear wall. Metal implements with sharp prongs and jagged edges hung on the walls. Marlies’ flesh crawled. These were the tools of a master torturer.
000 barred the door behind them.
A figure emerged from the shadows. Torchlight flickered over a bald head covered in blue-black stubble. His face was in shadow, but the bulk of the man was unmistakable—Zens.
“Good afternoon, 316 and 555,” Zens greeted. “Returned from patrol with a little something, have you?”
“Yes, sir,” 555 said, giving Zens an ingratiating smile.
Zens raised an arm, motioning Scar Snout forward. Zens’ upper arm was as thick as a man’s thigh, and his chest was a barrel, like Giant John’s. “I hear you were delayed getting back,” Zens crooned, pacing in front of the tharuk, his limbs moving with barely-restrained power. Above this thick malformed nose, his yellow eyes raked Scar Snout from head to foot.
The tharuk bowed. “Yes, sir. Found wagon in Tooka Chasm. All smashed.”
555 cut in. “The big oaf went east on horseback. I told crows. Other troops will find him.”
“Good, 555, you shall be rewarded.” Zens’ pupils dilated and he flicked a hand at 555.
Tharuk 555’s eyes glossed over, unseeing, and a tusky smile broke out on its
