Hammer the spokes with heavy stroke



Within the slave caverns Urgangur stoops over his work. Overseers stalk the lines ensuring everyone is working. There is no opportunity for laziness. Still, the slaves notice a change within their prison, and soon rumours begin to fly unbounded. Why is the work harsher than before, and why are the taskmasters fewer in number and crueler?

Hammer the spokes with heavy stroke

Strake with iron to the felloes

Heat in forge’s fierce flame yellow

On the charred black smoke we choke

 

 

“Faster” comes the frantic call

Fewer taskmasters though there are

Endless the work of every thrall

Swiftly comes anxiety’s scar

 

A whisper flies about the room

Rumours of war rise from the murk

To foes the master deals certain doom

To his weeping slaves, woeful work.

 

Snap! the whispers dwindle and die

As overseers stalk across the lines

“Return to labour.” Relentlessly they cry

Whips wail within these vile mines