The mine was a small barrel filled with an alchemical mixture that closely resembled plastic explosives, with an artifact embedded in the mixture. The artifact was exceptionally intricate. Made of mithril and moon silver, it was already an astonishingly valuable item just because of its materials.
The enchantments embedded in it from the Schools of Mind, Light, and Power made it a true masterpiece of magical art. Fifty gold coins! That was the price the archmage had set for one mine. Just one! And there were at least three hundred scattered around the fortress!
"Maybe we should dig up the rest?" Leonid, whom Alexander had met at night, couldn't sit still after hearing the story about the mines and their value.
"No 'maybes.' Dig up as many as you can!" the triumvir said sternly. "Such weapons are needed for ourselves!"
"Will do!" the warlord said with a mock salute. "So, what's planned for you?"
"Nothing! Both the archmage and the duke are complete incompetents in military matters. I voiced your idea. They didn't even discuss it; they outright rejected it!"
"That doesn't show their incompetence. It's just that Zalona needs to be taken before winter, and my idea implies not before next summer."
Alexander waved his hand in irritation.
"Summer. Winter. At least let them take it by next autumn! Elos isn't as simple as everyone thought. This mine trap is probably not his only surprise."
"Anything's possible. So, be careful."
"I'll try," the triumvir promised. "And now I'm off to hunt!"
At these words from the commander, Leonid shamefully handed him a sack, which contained a wine skin with about ten liters of liquid inside.
"Wild boar! Feed yourself and get back to the camp before they notice you're missing."
With nothing left to do, Alexander muttered under his breath and quickly consumed the blood that had been procured for him. Indeed, it wasn't worth leaving the camp for too long, even for the chance to rest while hunting.
In the morning, the rebels presented another surprise to the besiegers. As the night darkness receded a bit, armed men began to appear from the fortress, quietly gathering just behind the gates. Their appearance marked them as convicts. Archmage Elos had recruited a significant number of former forced laborers from the mines. They weren't even promised freedom or money. They served for food!
Considering the increase in his own army, the rebel did not burden himself with promises or slogans. Convicts from several mines were faced with a choice—either serve in Elos's army or stop being fed. No one wanted to die of hunger, so they all eagerly joined the ranks of the rebels, though nothing changed for them: poor food and constant harsh guards, except they didn't have to work, which was a relief.
The new warriors received no weapons or armor. Then they were roused in the middle of the night, given weapons, and pushed out through the gates. Confused and bewildered convicts looked around and tried to stay close to the fortress walls. The cold stone seemed unshakable and therefore reliable.
"Enemies ahead. Your task is to attack the sleeping camp and slaughter them!" The voice from above belonged to a lieutenant who had previously commanded one of the forts and was now appointed in charge of the convict "militia." "No one is expecting you. Go and kill them. And then there will be drinks, food, and women waiting for you!"
A couple of thousand men roared with joy.
"Run!"
And they ran. Dressed in rags and clutching weapons, some of which had clearly gathered dust in the fortress's storerooms long before their grandparents were even born.
From the corner tower of the fortress, there was a splendid view of both the besieging camp and the crowd of convicts running towards it. Archmage Elos stood at the top, surrounded by his officers, and watched the scene unfold.
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