Assassin's Rise by CJ Whrite Page A

his lips. On closer inspection,
Roland realised that Dragon was not as old as he appeared to be:
the years of dirt, cruelty and starvation served to make him seem
ancient, though.
    “Make sure you and
Dragon bring us another cart tomorrow. I’ll have some more food for
you then,” said Roland.
    Dragon nodded
enthusiastically.
    “Better go now before
the guards come looking. You can eat as you walk.”
    The two men shuffled
off and before they disappeared, Dragon gave Roland a small
wave.
    Roland pulled his shirt
back on and grabbed his pickaxe, joining Jeklor. Clumps of earth
fell on his head but he ignored it, his face screwed up.
    “Was that all?” asked
Jeklor, sounding disappointed.
    “All for now. They
first have to trust us.”
    Jeklor shrugged and
they continued working. Roland strained his ears to hear if there
was punishment being dealt out in the cavern, but he heard no cries
or shouts and he relaxed; the guards apparently did not notice
anything different about Andros and Dragon.
    “We’ll need to find a
way to cut through these chains,” he told Jeklor as they
worked.
    “It’s uncomfortable,
yes. But the chain is long enough for us to run if we have to,”
said Jeklor. He thought the discomfort a small price to pay.
    “I’m talking about the
noise they make. How will we escape the mine if everyone can hear
us coming?”
    “Ah ... but won’t it
make just as much noise to break it?”
    Roland hadn’t thought
of that. A different obstacle met each new plan that took shape in
his mind.
    More clumps of earth
fell on his head, now positively showering him. Roland shook his
head and clenched his eyes shut, rubbing his face with his
forearm.
    “What the – RUN!”
Jeklor suddenly shouted and sprinted off. His leg yanked out from
underneath him; the chain linking him and Roland had pulled taut as
Roland remained where he was. He hit the floor face first with a
groan. The roof over their heads was bulging outwards, cracks
running up and down the soft earth.
    “No, we need the
tunnel!” shouted Roland desperately, and grabbed a wooden board
propped against the side of the tunnel. He heaved and lifted it
over his head, pressing it against the roof. “Quick! Supporting
poles,” he yelled.
    Jeklor remained on his
stomach and stretched his arm out, his fingers just touching a pole
lying in front of him. He didn’t dare move forward; Roland could
stumble and lose his hold on the board.
    Jeklor groaned as he
stretched – it felt as though he was dislocating his shoulder, but
then he managed to wrap his fingers around the end of the pole.
Carefully he dragged the pole toward him; it would not do to let it
slip.
    He jumped up and lifted
the pole, pressing the end underneath one side of the board. He
kicked the bottom of the pole into position, the foot end gouging
into the tunnel floor as the pole took the weight of the board.
Roland shifted to the side, pressing both his hands at the edge of
the board. Dirt trickled down the side of the board and he lowered
his head, breathing deeply as the pressure increased. Jeklor
grabbed the remaining pole and pushed it underneath the other side
of the board. Roland quickly wrenched his fingers out of the way
and helped Jeklor to shove the pole into position.
    It had taken no more
than two minutes, but both men were exhausted. Jeklor fell back,
lying stretched out on the floor, looking at the roof. The
supporting structure groaned, and a bulge formed in the centre of
the board – but it held.
    “Never again,” he said,
closing his eyes. “I think I made a mistake coming with you, old
horse.”
    “Never asked you to,”
said Roland and pressed a pickaxe into Jeklor’s hand. “Come, let’s
hope the guards haven’t noticed anything.”
    Jeklor groaned. “You
would make a splendid guard yourself,” he said and stood up.
Together they swung their pickaxes into the tunnel-end, sweat
glistening on their faces from shock and adrenalin.
    They continued working,
tensed