Marcus kept his pace steady as he descended deeper into the mine's winding tunnels, his boots crunching on gravel and loose rock.
The air grew heavier with each step, thick with the mingled stench of sweat, dust, and smelly air.
Every time his eyes adjusted to the gloom, they found the same miserable sight, ent, skeletal figures in ragged scraps of cloth, hacking away at the rock face with dull pickaxes.
The deeper they went, the less the light of the sun reached them.
Here and there, torches had been jammed into iron brackets or wedged into cracks in the wall, their flames sputtering, casting thin circles of light that barely pushed back the shadows. Beyond each circle, the darkness swallowed everything whole.
The overseers loitered along the tunnel walls, leaning on whips or spears, watching their assigned groups of slaves with bored or predatory eyes.
