Trail Of The Torean (Book 2) by Ron Collins

thin, who were, one by one, filling empty sacks from barrels of powder then placing them in piles next to the conveyor.
    His hunger welled up, then. Hunger that tasted of honey and smelled of … clouds … smelled of fresh ozone over a field after a lightning storm … smelled of …
    He gritted his teeth.
    Garrick could take the pain away from these slaves.
    He could reach out … he could …
    He stopped himself. No, he thought. No. He remembered the decimation he had left in Sjesko. To drain himself now and go on a rampage in the depths of Takril’s city would be a nightmare of incredible proportion.
    The commander ordered a desert knight to take the horses. “Treat them well,” he said.
    “Yes, sir.”
    Koric led them to an oval cavern lit by magelight that came from an iron apparatus attached to the ceiling. A wide shaft fell away into the center of the floor. It was a gaping black maw that dropped into darkness and gave Garrick a sense of vertigo.
    A lift stood to one side, chains and ropes running in grooved slots beside the platform.
    A pair of slaves operated the winches and brakes and other mechanisms that would raise and lower it.
    They stepped onto the cart, and Koric called down. The platform lurched and the mechanisms squealed as they descended into the darkness.
    Garrick gazed upward.
    “That’s a lot of rock up there, isn’t it?” Koric said to him.
    It didn’t make him feel any better.
    “Interesting place,” Darien said.
    “We like it,” Koric replied.
    “I didn’t see many guards.”
    The commander’s smile was cold.
    “You’re wondering why the slaves don’t run?”
    “Yes.”
    “We have more security here than is easily visible, my friend. And the penalty of running is convincing enough to keep them in place all by itself. Usually, anyway.”
    The platform descended past an opening in the shaft that reeked of human waste, and that drew Garrick’s hunger even harder. It was a slave pit, he realized, which made sense when he thought about it.
    “The slaves live in the upper levels so they can work on the surface when they need to,” Koric said as they descended farther. “The desert knights and others needed for basic operations inhabit the mid-caves, and our citizens live in the depths of the city below.”
    They came to a segment where a scintillating reflection came from the walls.
    “What is that?” Garrick asked.
    “Razor needles,” Koric said. “Keeps people from scaling their way down to the city.”
    They would serve the opposite purpose, too, Garrick decided. No one would easily climb in or out of Arderveer through this shaft.
    The lift came to a halt and the hollow sound of moving water echoed from below. The shaft probably led to a deep river that served as a well. Arderveer truly was a fully hidden city.
    Koric led them off the lift and into the barracks chamber of the desert knights, a cavern filled with cots and footlockers and men and women, some napping, some gaming, and others working on some personal regimen. One segment of the quarters was a common armory. Rows of swords, whips, and pikes rested there against the stone wall.
    Desert knights passed through the hall with no wasted movement. Their closeness was a force in itself—these were driven people, disciplined and energetic. Garrick’s hunger tracked the position of each, and knew their movements as they were made.
    His skin burned with invisible flames.
    He could taste them. Feel them. They were so close. So very close.
    “Your knights are busy,” Darien said.
    “The Lord has other visitors today.”
    “Do I want to know who?”
    The commander smirked.
    They came to a doorway that was spanned by a pane of translucent blue light.
    Koric laid his hand against a polished rock in the wall, and the light faded to reveal a stairwell. He escorted them farther downward until they came to an oval receiving room filled with a long conference table and many padded chairs. The floor here radiated warmth that