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
