Chapter 10 The Great Wall

For the following few days, we worked without rest or any breaks. The guards drove us mercilessly, their whips never far from our backs. The sun beat down on us relentlessly, our bodies drenched in sweat, our muscles screaming in agony. We toiled from dawn till dusk, barely stopping to catch our breath. Most of us worked with trees, and the rest started to dig the caves in the cliff face. Every part of our bodies ached, but we had no choice but to keep working.

We managed to finish the foundations for the walls, a painful task completed through sheer willpower and fear of the guards' wrath. The next phase was even more daunting: building the wall itself. The thought of cutting down more trees and working with the colossal logs was unbearable. I knew we needed a better solution.

I scuttled over to Master Goblin Rakrak, my heart pounding. I chose my tone and words carefully as I suggested an alternative.

 "Master Rakrak, may I speak?" I began, my voice trembling slightly.

Rakrak looked at me for a moment and said, "Ah, Hermit. Speak."

 "Master, I have an idea for building the wall. Instead of using logs, which are hard to work with, we could use stones, sticks, and clay. It would be much stronger and easier to build. Our surroundings have all the materials we need: sturdy sticks from the trees we've already felled, clay from digging the trenches, and stones lying all around us."

Rakrak pondered my suggestion for a minute, his beady eyes narrowed in thought. Finally, he nodded.

 "Hmmm, walls out of stone sounds good. Wood burns, but the stone does not. Yes, we will proceed with the stone walls. But you better get moving. There is so much more to be done. The caves and the hatchery are waiting their turn."

Feeling a surge of confidence, I dared to ask for another favor. 

"Umm, Master? I was wondering, may we build some tents for ourselves? We are getting very cold at night, and we are not allowed warmth by the fire. With your permission, we would like to make shabby tents to hide from the night's cold, the freezing rain, and the chilling wind. Please, Master, grant us this mercy."

Rakrak's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought he would backhand me across the face for my insolence. But he composed himself and pondered for another minute. 

"Perhaps you may," he finally said.

 "At one point, you will need a shed to stay in and raise the hatchlings, so I suppose you can start building. But only in your free time. I want to see that wall done as fast as possible. Make it happen."

I fell to my knees and bowed so hard that my forehead blew a hole in the dirt.

 "Thank you, Master! Thank you! We will, we will."

 The next days were grueling. Carrying stones from around the area was backbreaking work. Our scrawny bodies strained under the weight, our hands bloodied and raw from the rough surfaces. But it was better than hacking down trees, and we pressed on. Rakrak even withheld the daily beatings and tortures so that we would finish the walls faster.

We mixed the clay and sticks with clumsy, unskilled hands, forming a crude but effective mortar. The guards watched us with disdain, their sneers and insults a constant reminder of our lowly status. The clay was thick and sticky, clinging to our fingers and skin, while the sticks poked and scratched us as we worked.

“Faster, you brainless worms!” the guards barked, their whips always ready to strike.

We struggled to understand the basic principles of building, our feeble minds barely grasping the concept. I was the only one who knew a little bit about how to put things together. It took a bit of time but I taught some other slaves how to work. 

We scavenged for stones, picking up whatever we could find. Some were too big for our weak arms to lift, but we heaved and grunted, working together to move them into place. The stones were rough and uneven, cutting into our palms and leaving bloody gashes.

We started laying the foundation, placing the largest and flattest stones first. It took several goblins to position each stone, our combined strength barely sufficient to maneuver them into place. The guards watched us with their ever-present whips, ready to strike at any sign of lagging or incompetence. Fear drove us to work faster, our hearts pounding with effort and terror.

The first few layers of the wall were the hardest. We had to ensure each stone was stable, pressing it into the sticky mortar and adjusting it until it fits snugly against its neighbors. Our hands were constantly in motion, slathering on more mortar, repositioning stones, and smoothing the surfaces. The guards' whips cracked in the background, a constant reminder of the consequences of failure.

Our method was simple but effective. We slapped the sticky clay onto the stones, cramming sticks into the mixture to add stability. It was a chaotic process, with more clay ending up on us than on the wall. But slowly, the wall began to take shape, rising inch by inch.

“Look, it’s working!” one of the goblins squealed, his eyes wide with surprise.

As we worked, we began to develop a rhythm. One goblin would fetch the stones, another would mix the mortar, and a third would place the stones. It was a slow, laborious process, but it was progress. We worked under the scorching sun, our bodies covered in sweat and grime, our muscles aching from the constant exertion.

The guards watched us with a mixture of amusement and contempt. They mocked our efforts, but they didn’t interfere. They wanted the wall built, and they didn’t care how we did it, as long as it got done.

“Faster, you pathetic worms!” they shouted, their whips cracking in the air.

 “Or do you want some beating instead?!”

Fear drove us to work harder. We ignored the blisters on our hands, the cuts on our fingers, the aching in our backs. We focused on the wall, on each stone, on each handful of mortar. It was our lifeline, our hope for a better future.

As the day turned to the night, the wall grew taller. It was still uneven and lopsided, but it was strong. We reinforced it with more clay and sticks, adding layers to make it sturdier. We worked from dawn until dusk, our bodies pushed to the brink of exhaustion.

At night, we collapsed into heaps, our bodies too exhausted to move. The guards allowed us a few hours of rest, but it was never enough. We wake up sore and stiff, our muscles aching from the previous day's labor. But we had no choice but to get up and do it all over again.

As the wall grew taller, we used makeshift scaffolding constructed from branches and vines. The structure was precarious, swaying dangerously with every movement, but it allowed us to reach higher and continue building. We clambered up the scaffolding to deliver stones and mortar to the youngest slaves working above. Their small hands were perfect for the delicate task of fitting the smaller stones into the gaps, creating a tight, interlocking pattern that added to the wall's strength.

As the wall neared completion, we had a bit more free time to rest. The guards, seeing the progress, granted us brief reprieves from the relentless work. In those rare moments, we scavenged materials for our tents. Using the leftover sticks, giant leaves, and vines, we cobbled together makeshift shelters. They were crude, barely more than lean-tos, but they provided some protection from the elements. The nights were still cold, the rain still seeped through the gaps, but it was better than nothing.

We constructed the shelters in a cluster, seeking comfort in numbers. Each night, we huddled together, our bodies pressed close for warmth. The giant leaves provided some cover, their broad surfaces shielding us from the worst of the rain. The vines, twisted and knotted, formed the frames of our shelters, holding the leaves in place. It was a meager existence, but it was our respite from the endless toil.

With the final stones placed, the walls stood tall, our labor of countless agonizing days finally complete. Our bodies were well past the limit of exhaustion, each movement driven by willpower alone. The skin was peeling from our fingers, many of which were broken, splintered, and mangled beyond recognition. We were walking piles of filth, blood, sweat, mud, and clay smeared our bodies from head to toe. We were a sorry sight to look at, emaciated and covered in grime, our eyes hollow and lifeless.

When the last stone was set, we collapsed to the ground, face-first into the slick mud. Our muscles spasmed, and our breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. We lay there, too weak to move, too tired to even think. The guards and the goblin master, Rakrak, circled the walls, inspecting our work with critical eyes.