Broken Chains

In one, he rose above this quarry, above the mighty city of Jarnac, over the entire world, raised a golden hammer and split the world asunder. In another his gaze was a burning fire, cutting through darkness, revealing a woodland scene. It seemed to be after some sort of battle, but all he could remember were the faces of his people, the Cyntare. The faces were bloodied and emaciated, but they shone with the light of happiness, freedom, and strangely... peace. He shook his head sadly, peace had never rested its gentle hand on his head for more than a moment.

A swinging shadow obscured the aim of his next blow, and his reverie faded. Leaning on his hammer, he glanced up to the gallows, and sighed heavily. Dreams were only those, dreams, and nothing more. Pain and misery, suffering and slavery were the only reality he would ever know. That and the quietly simmering rage that he knew he could no longer deny. That rage heated at the thought of the waste of life among his people. It kept him going even when his heart told him to lay down and die. He couldn’t allow that, not while the corpses behind whispered though the creaking of their ropes, supplicating him for vengeance. He didn’t even know them, but they were his people, and that was enough. One of them, a young woman, had even smiled at him once. Her pretty face-

"Will the stone be quarried by the strength of your idiot gaze, boy?"

The blow glanced down the side of his face. He staggered, bowed, and resumed his labors with practiced obsequiousness.

"Come now." The white-haired young man poked at him from behind. "Hit me, dog. You want to. Do it. "

As blood trickled over his jaw he recognized the voice of Malere. Stonecrusher kept his eyes averted just enough to be respectful, yet see the next blow coming. "I want only to please, great one."

"And if it pleases me to have you strike me," Malere leaned forward. "What’ll you do then?"

"Death before harming my master, Great One."

"And master it always will be, Stonecrusher, maggot that you are." Malere’s focus had shifted to another victim, so his words lacked their usual malice. His robe left a trail in the rock dust behind him as his menacing bulk lumbered off to spread misery in another direction.

The rock shattered under the hammers blows, showering chunks of granite amid a growing smoke of dust. For long moments no coherent thought intruded on his violent release. He seldom allowed his temper to rage on, but its power was undeniable now.

Finally, Stonecrusher’s head turned back to the corpses and his rage drained. One attempt at escape, or resistance, and he would die the same day. Nine more would die along with him according to the twisted Vayare law. The thought kept his anger burning hotly, not even the sound of the hammer could calm him now.

You must act soon.

He stiffened and let the goose flesh run its course over his sweating skin. The voice was powerful, but seemed to come from within him. He waited a moment wondering if his mind had finally-.

Soon, you must do it soon or all is lost.

"Do what?" He whispered into the ground. "Who are you?"

No answer. What was happening? He thought he heard a voice, twice. Maybe the fever had him again, maybe he was slipping his anchor. Maybe he should act soon. Act how? And why should the foreign thought in his mind sound so familiar?