The handler Ostan was just outside the hatori’s pen when the quake first struck. The knight was pitched to the ground. He hadn’t seen the cracks appear in the dry earth, one of them running through the ground where the post stood in the hatori’s pen. As the cracks widened, the post tilted.
And the great digging beast stirred.
Ostan picked himself up just as the post slipped into the crack. He had the presence to yell for help and the sense not to venture into the pen alone to try to stop the hatori.
The creature watched the post sink out of view, tugging the chain with it. The hatori was so massive that for long moments the post dangled in what had become a crevice, held by the chain wrapped around the creature’s chest.
“Trelane! Bring as many men as you can spare,” Ostan hollered. “The beast is breaking loose!”
Indeed it was. The crevice was closing; the ground was continuing to rumble and causing the slats of the pen to bounce and rattle. Ostan nearly fell over again.
“Trelane! Be fast!” Ostan held tight with one hand to a top slat and drew his sword with the other, furtively glancing around and watching Steel Town begin to disintegrate around him. “The beast, it-”
It growled then, a sound Ostan had heard only a few times before. And though the quake was causing a considerable uproar, the growl of the hatori could be heard above it. The sound started as a low rumble, mimicking the upheaval of the earth, then rose in intensity until it became so high-pitched that Ostan had to drop his sword and hold his hands to his ears.
There was a snap, the sound of the chain breaking as the crevice sealed itself, with the hatori helping by rearing back at the same time on its stubby crocodile legs. The end of the chain swung back and cracked against the fence where Ostan stood.
Ostan couldn’t hear the pounding of feet as a dozen knights and two laborers, the latter carrying coils of rope, raced toward the pen. The men vaulted over debris spilled from rock piles and widening cracks in the earth as they approached, some shouting words that were lost in the cacophony.
“We can’t lose the hatori!” cried the first knight to reach the pen. “Slaves, they can die, and they can be replaced. We might never gain another one of these.”
He slipped between slats, the knights and men following him, Ostan squeezing in from the other side after he regained his sword.
The creature growled again, the sound so hurtful it was like a punch to the stomach of the two laborers, and the knights nearby scooped up the ropes, gritting their teeth and charging forward.
“Get a rope around its neck!” Ostan shouted. He tossed a chunk of mutton in front of the hatori; he’d pulled it from a pouch that was filled with such treats.
The hatori momentarily ceased growling. Distracted, it snapped at the meat. Then it raised its head on its stubby neck, opening its jaws wide to growl again. One knight darted in and looped a rope around its neck and tried to jump back.
But the ground bucked beneath him and sent him to his back, and before his fellows could grab the rope, the hatori swung around and bit the knight in half.
The beast swung toward the other handlers. Already close to the ground on its short legs, it didn’t seem bothered by the quake. It lashed out with its tail, striking Ostan in the thighs with enough force to slam him back into the slats of the pen. The knight burst through and hit his head hard on the earth, his helmet worsening the blow and rendering him unconscious.
Eleven knights were left on their feet to swarm the digging beast, looping another length of rope around its neck. Four threw themselves across the hatori’s tail so it couldn’t flail easily, their weight helping to pin the beast.
“We’ve got it!” one of the knights called. He gestured with his head to the hatori’s back, and three of the knights jumped on the back of the creature, trying to subdue it with their weight.
But the quake kept going and going. It seemed to go on forever, though in truth the disaster took only a few minutes-but it was long enough to spread more cracks in the ground and to tear apart what was left of the hatori’s pen.
The ropes around its neck were thick but not as strong as the thick chains that usually held it in place. And the drugs that normally dulled its senses had been shaken off by the excitement of the quake and its near escape.
It thrust its claws into the still-shaking ground and thrashed its head back and forth. At the same time, it pushed itself up-enough to knock a few of the men off its back.
“We’re losing the beast!” One of the knights on its tail clung desperately as the creature thrashed. “We must …” The rest of his words were lost as the hatori lurched forward and dug furiously with its front claws, thrust its snout into loose earth, and dived underground.
Most of the knights were sent flying as it whipped its tail back and forth, rolling over once as it continued its dive, crushing the sole knight who had managed to hang on to its back. Then it was gone, disappeared into the ground, ropes and chain with it.
The quake continued as the knights fought to regain their feet and rushed to see if Ostan was alive.
5
Mudwort grabbed onto a thick timber at the mine entrance. Cracks ran along the length of the wood, and a piece had peeled away at the top. Splinters pierced her fingers as she held on tighter and stared into the maw of the mine, hearing more screams and more rocks crashing. The air that wafted out was stale and filled with stone dust and the smell of dying goblins.
“Direfang!” Mudwort shouted with as much volume as she could summon. “Direfang!”
There was no answer, just more screams and the loud crash of falling rocks and the groan of the timber to which she desperately clung. The bottoms of her feet still registered the heated words of the earth, but she was too preoccupied to pick anything out of the snarling and shouting. She was worried for her friend, Direfang, because if the hobgoblin died inside the mountain, who would force her to eat? Who would share stories of the time before they were slaves?
She would not miss the other goblins and hobgoblins who were dead or dying-though she would feel some remorse at their passing since more work would be assigned to her and the other survivors.
But she would actually miss Direfang. Better to either save him or die with him, she decided after a moment’s reflection.
She drew a deep breath, and when the rumbling eased, she took a first tentative step into the mine … then another and another. There were split bracing timbers and crosspieces, and a place where part of the ceiling had collapsed, almost blocking the shaft. But it wasn’t blocked enough to prevent a small goblin from squeezing through. Mudwort went forward, deeper, eyes peering into the shadows and fingers running along the stone wall to her left, tracking the faint vibrations.
Scarcely aware of her surroundings, she plodded on, instinctively stepping over rubble. She paused once and put her ear to the chest of a fallen goblin whose head was hidden by a jumble of rocks: no life. She paused again at a goblin and a hobgoblin lying curled together in the center of the tunnel, as though they’d fallen asleep. Scratches were deep on the hobgoblin’s arm, but there was not much blood and no sign that rocks had crushed them.
Dead from fear?