I do not know for how long I was out, but merely thankful that I had not fallen back into deep water, for fear I must have surely drowned. As I came to, I was alarmed at the sight of another man standing in front of me, and so regained my composure quickly. The man however, seemed to mean no ill will, but rather kept a comfortable distance away. He must of been twenty or so years my elder, but very fit - tall and lean, built as if a razor personified. He had a long, furrowed forehead that lead up to a widow's peak of ink-black hair. Though starting to thin, his glossy hair was pulled back into a tightly braided knot. His clothing was similar to the guards I had seen earlier, and I now recognized it as being the uniform of the Royal Long Bowmen. Black leather strips were arranged in a pattern over the scarlet tunic on the chest and shoulders, representing the rays of the Sun - the manifestation of Innos. His scarlet colored breeches had been patched many times with the wrong color of fabric and were very baggy down to his knees. Below that met his black leather boots trimmed with silver couplings. He sported a long recurved bow slung over his shoulder and a short sword by his side. All being said, he looked to be of very sharp character, if not dangerous, and a bit of a contrast, going from exquisiteness of his boots and weaponry to the shabby appearance of his pants.

The man spoke:
"Welcome to the colony."
"Are you going to strike me in the face as well?" I cynically asked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"The last time someone bid me welcome here I was knocked unconscious."
"Oh. I see. You must have made the acquaintance of Bullit.' The man stated. "I would advise you to stay away from characters like him. It's true there are many men thrown in here for as little as stealing a loaf of bread, but there are also men who were thrown in here because they deserved to be."
"What sort of man are you then?" I asked.
"Let's just say that I live by my own code." Was the man's reply. "My name is Diego."
"My name is" ---- He quickly interrupted:
"I don't care who you are, you've only just arrived here. Your name means little to myself or anyone else in the colony. Your past has died, and the actions you take now will determine what you become known as." His words were so well composed that it almost seemed as if he had given this speech to new arrivals before.

"What do I need to know about this place?" I inquired.
"You need to know that your very survival will not be easy. There are a lot of dangerous beasts in this valley; do not go wandering around the colony - only skilled hunters do that." Speaking of which, you should not linger here, you do not want to be outside the camp after nightfall."
"The camp?" Said I.
"Yes, well... in actuality there are three camps." Answered Diego. "The men you have seen so far, including myself, belong to the 'Old Camp.' Head down the mountain path; the Old Camp is the first reasonably safe looking place you will come to. On the way there you will run across the 'abandoned mine'. It has long since been shut down, but you may find a pick-axe or something of value around there that may give you a head start. Everyone here must be self-sufficient; you either kill or grow your own food, or find some way to pay for someone else's. Otherwise, you starve to death. Most of the men in the Old Camp survive by digging in the Ore mine."

"What about the other camps?" I asked. Diego grew a little impatient.
"You will learn about them from talking with men in the Old Camp. You don't have time for me to explain everything to you now." Nevertheless, I pressed to continue our conversation, hoping to gain as much foreknowledge as I could.
"I will not dig in a mine to gain one ounce of Ore for the man who threw me in this place."
"Certainly. Come back and tell me that when you start aching from lack of food.." said Diego, in a tone that indicated he was sure it would happen just so. "Anyway, with what did you occupy your time with before being convicted?" he asked.
"I was a farmer." Said I.

"Good, that means you are probably familiar with a few of the plants that grow in these parts - which ones are edible, that is. You should gather all that you can on the way down the path, I believe I saw some berries earlier myself." At that point it occurred to me just how helpful Diego was being to me, and I thanked him generously for his advice. "Never you mind, it's the least I can do. You're looking half starved even now. Here, take this..." He reached into a bag slung under his arm, pulled out a chunk of bread, and tossed it to me. "It's a couple days old, but around here a luxury."
"Again, I thank you."
"Well, I must be going. Come by and see me when you make it to the Camp. We will talk more then." Diego turned and jogged off down the mountain path that lead away from the entrance to the barrier.

I thought to myself that I might have just made a friend here in the colony, and that lifted my spirits. At the very least, it made me feel a little more secure. Nevertheless, I wondered what was so dangerous about this world besides the people. I pondered this for a moment, and then scarfed down the crusty bread like a rabid dog. I glanced about as if to be looking for a sign as to what to do next. Remembering the exchange I overheard earlier while awaiting my insertion, I spied a half drunk bottle of beer that one of the men had thrown aside. I scooped it up and re-corked it. Under an impulse, I took off my shirt and breeches and plunged back into the water of whence I was thrown into, and tried my best to wash three long months of stink off of my body. Oh what I would have given for a bar of lye soap!

Not wanting to linger too long in accord with Diego's admonition however, I dressed and then headed off down the path. I had not traveled far, in fact just around a bend, I came upon a wooden barricade of sorts. It was a wall of about fifteen feet in height, blocking off the pass between what appeared to be an ancient rock slide. Tons upon tons of boulders must have toppled down each opposing mountain and came to rest there for ages, as there was grass and some scraggly looking trees growing in amongst them. There was a gate in the wooden wall, and it was open. But before continuing I decided to climb up to the battlement and have a talk with the two guards stationed there. They were of course, dressed in the King's colors, with antique looking weapons by their sides. The first guard to speak up told me his name was Orry .

"Diego told us there would be a fellow coming through this way." He said. "You must be the new guy they threw in here today."
"Yes. That's right." I replied. "What exactly are you two guarding here?"
"Well not much at the present. We were stationed here with about ten other guards to make sure those bastards from the New Camp didn't get into the exchange place. All of the supplies from the outside world come through the place where you entered. And all of them filter through the Old Camp, because we are the ones who process the Iron Ore for the King. There's nothing those Rogues in the New Camp would like more than to raid an entire shipment of supplies and take it for themselves."
"Oh I see." I responded. The new camp Orry referred to must have been one of the other camps Diego mentioned, but I wanted to learn more.
I asked: "Who.. or what is the New Camp?"
"They're a group of thugs that broke off from the Old Camp, but I'm not certain why. I've heard that they've a notion to bring down the barrier somehow. Now I ask you - won't everyone be free if they should succeed?... So why would I want to put my efforts into such a scheme which has little chance of success, rather than apply myself to living as comfortable as possible in the meantime?" I supposed this to be a rhetorical question; at least I made it so by not replying. This was for the better I felt, as the man would probably have cared little for my opinion since I had determined it differed greatly from his.

Now something that vexed me from the beginning was what had happened to Velaya. I told Orry that a girl was thrown in to the colony at the same time I was, and wondered what was to become of her.
"Ah, yes, a fine young thing she was, eh Barton?" Orry gave a wink to his comrade. "She'll become a slave of Gomez no doubt, - lucky devil." I could not explain it at the time, but I instantly felt a jealous anger well up inside.
"Who is Gomez?" I asked.
"Gomez is the leader of the Old Camp. Diego didn't mention that?" Orry replied.
"We really didn't talk that long, he encouraged me to get moving." Was my answer.
"Ah, and best you should... Let me just say this: In Myrtana, Rhobar is King, yes? Well, you might say that in the Valley of Mines, Gomez is King. He is the leader of the Old Camp, and the most powerful man in the colony. As long as Rhobar needs Ore, it will stay that way. Gomez gets anything he wants... and I do mean anything. The girl was probably taken into the castle. You'll never see her again." At that Orry and Barton exchanged a couple of crude jokes, while I climbed back down the ladder, contemplating everything they said.

As I continued down the pass, it occurred to me how grey the world was. The rocks were barren for the most part, and what grass grew on the more level parts was a dull, lifeless brown. Everything about the landscape was a stark contrast from the lush, green world I had just left. The Sun was a little past zenith, and still quite warm, as was usual for the summer. The air was heavy even at this high altitude, and I felt perspiration run from my armpits down along my side. As I rounded another corner of rock, I spied a widening of the gash I was traveling through, and what seemed to be the abandoned mine that Diego mentioned, set back off of the road a few yards. I approached the entrance and found the mine to have been sealed shut by an iron grating. To my good fortune however, I could make out in the darkness of the shaft a pickaxe lying just inside. I scanned the area for something to reach it with, and came up with a board that had probably once been part of the mine itself. It barely fit in between the gaps in the bars, but barely was good enough. With a little bit of patience I was able to bring the pickaxe closer to me. At that point I realized that the head of the pick would never fit through the bars, and this was irritating. In a fit of anger I jerked at the handle which came right out of the metal head and through the grating. Apparently the wood was so dry and shrunken that it was no longer attached well. This allowed me to get the head out after all, which I then put back onto the handle as best I could. I thought to myself that letting the assembly soak in water for a few days would no doubt do the trick of swelling it back to a tight fit again.

So I now had a pickaxe, which, mind you, I did not intend to use in service of Rhobar II! I did call to mind Diego's cynicism though, and thought that keeping the pickaxe would be to my advantage. I now examined the surroundings more closely. A little ways ahead there was a narrow, rickety wooden bridge stretching across the pathway, and I was curious to see what was on the other side. While crossing I could hear the boards creak and moan under my weight. As I suspected, it was there to provide access to another mining shaft long since abandoned. There must have been some violent exchange here years before, as there were the remains of three humans lying on this plateau. A rusty sword had been plunged into one of the men and left there to rot along with the dead body. I stole towards it, but heard a growling grunt to my left. Around a bush came a young Molerat, an aggressive sort of animal usually inhabiting densely forested areas. Standing at knee height but squatty with blunt faces and pinkish colored, hairless flesh, Molerats are an ugly sight to behold. Being quite aggressive, a pack of them have been known to get the better of a person lost in deep forest. I readied to swing my pickaxe in an overhand motion at the charging vermin, waiting just long enough for it to reach my feet. I slammed the pick down into the wretched creature's back, just behind its head. It let out a gurgling squeal, much like that of a pig, and expired. The head of the pickaxe remained lodged in the poor creature, but the force of the blow caused my handle to come out yet again.
I thrust it aside, and moved for the sword I had spied out earlier. The blade was all orange and brown with rust, and the leather wrapping the handle fared the passing of time little better than the flesh of the sword's victim. Still it had promise, and I pulled it out to examine the tip that had been sunken in the earth for God only knows how long. Rusty metal flaked off of this part of the sword; nevertheless, after striking the blade against the ground without it breaking in two, I decided it would serve me better than the pickaxe. Much to my delight I also found a leather pouch belonging to the corpse. It was shrunken, filthy, and tougher than the bottom of a good boot, but was still useful for carrying objects.

Down the mountain passage I continued, and after a short distance more, came upon a grizzly scene. Just off the path to the right, suspended from a branch on a gnarled tree that had been struck by lightning, was a man who was recently hung to death. He was naked, stripped no doubt of all his belongings. It seemed he had not been dead long. A large crow was already perched atop his head however and beginning to feast on the victims eyeballs. The bird let out a defiant caw upon sensing my presence. The man did not resemble anyone at the site of my entrance that I could remember, and so I was perplexed as to his origin. I did not linger long, save for gathering a handful of arrows that I found either lodged in the tree or laying about. They were old as well, but could still be used, and I thought they might earn me another piece of bread from someone at the very least.

I pressed on, noticing the path dropping more steeply. A refreshing breeze blew into my face, and grew stronger as I descended. Nearing two imposing rock formations - one on either side of the trail, like two giant horns, the wind increased to the point of howling, and lapped at my auburn hair, which had grown considerably longer since my incarceration. When I reached the two horns, an incredible sight greeted me. Beneath the haze I could see that a valley lay sprawled out before the foot of the mountain, with land that resembled a badly tangled blanket after a night of thrashing about in insomnia. This was the Valley of Mines. My indefinitely lasting new home. Sharply rising mountains encircled the valley in an elongated horseshoe shape - from the north where I was standing, around to the west and coming to meet the seashore in the east. A river flowed out of the mountains in the west, where the elevation was higher, and splashed and sputtered its way down the middle of the valley to the east where everything was much lower, and emptied out into the sea. Near the river in the center of the valley I could spy the Old Camp, though I would have been more inclined to call it 'the castle', for a black, granite stoned castle was indeed the integral part of the camp. It was a medium sized fortress built in the gothic style, and looked to have been quite old. The prominent feature was an unusually tall watchtower situated on the north side of the keep. It's roof was a red slated spire, with four smaller spires coming off of the large one. Around this castle was built the actual camp, with a large wooden palisade encircling the whole.

I breathed in deeply. Somehow the sight of the castle gave me encouragement. Perhaps it was the sense of security it represented. Upon that thought I was reminded that I was still a long ways off in reaching the camp before night fell. Nevertheless I lingered for just a moment in order to take in the surroundings, for from this vantage point one could see the entire valley. I questioned the exact whereabouts of the barrier - if it was up in the hills or if it were smaller, and whether or not it reached the sea. I also stared in wonderment at the bleakness of the whole region. Not that it was ugly, for I have always appreciated the seasons the Gods gave us. But I couldn't help but marvel at the fact that although it was high summer, the entire valley seemed to be in the middle of Autumn, and a very dry season at that, as everything appeared half dead. I learned later that year and through the ones to come that the Valley of Mines knew only two seasons - Autumn and Winter. It was as if the land itself were "asleep", and refused to awaken to the charms of Spring.

To be continued