“But the ground just shook,” one of the miners said. “How can we know it’ll be safe down there?”
“You want a guarantee?” Doyle said. “I guarantee you that someday you’re going to die. Other than that, I got nothing. Be ready to go to work after lunch.”
***
In the days that followed, Doyle worked them even harder, probably because of the six overseers standing behind him. Fortunately, the dirt and rocks were loose and easy to move compared to the packed earth they’d been digging through a few days before.
While the digging was easier, the forward progress was slower because the masons had to shore up the tunnel every five feet lest the unstable ceiling collapse again. None of the miners complained about the frequent breaks, instead using the time to nap or gossip about the rumors that seemed to materialize out of thin air in Mithel Dour.
Toward the end of the first day, Chloe returned from her scouting. “I couldn’t find the chamber you spoke of, but I did find another chamber of interest,” she said in his mind. “It looks just like the place where we found the heartstone of Blackstone Keep, but the crystal shattered long ago.”
“Where is this chamber?” Alexander asked.
“Directly under the forges,” Chloe said. “I believe it used to provide the magic to power them.”
“Interesting … and you said the forges don’t look like they’ve been used for some time. Does it look like they’ve been unused since the crystal failed?”
“No, My Love, the forges appear to have been active within the past few years.”
“So how are they powering them without the heartstone? And why aren’t they using them to build more lances right now?”
“I don’t know.”
“I know, Little One. Just thinking out loud, as it were.”
“Back to work,” Doyle shouted, more for the benefit of the overseers than for the men.
***
Alexander slept like the dead that night, his body sore and tired from exertion. The next day wasn’t any better.
He spent most of the work breaks watching the masons. He’d never worked with stone before, so he found the methods used to move and maneuver large blocks of granite fascinating. The masons were masters at using leverage and counterweights to manipulate carefully cut blocks of stone and set them into place. While they seemed to work slowly and very deliberately, Alexander was impressed with how quickly and efficiently they were able to transform the earthen tunnel into a stone corridor.
During one of the breaks, Alexander could hear the overseers having a conversation that he found particularly interesting.
“I hear the king’s sister is pregnant again,” one overseer said.
“So soon after she lost the last one?” another said, shaking his head.
“I hear it’s the king’s,” yet another said in a guarded tone.
“Maybe that’s why she keeps losing them.”
“Hey!” the lead overseer said, approaching his men quickly and talking in a harsh whisper. “The Acuna hears all. Do you really want your idle speculations about His Majesty to get back to them?”
All of the other overseers fell silent, looking about furtively.
“Break’s over!” Doyle bellowed.
One day ran into the next, each more grueling than the last. Alexander considered escaping several times, but he was far too curious about the warded stone wall he and the other miners were digging toward. The Babachenko seemed to believe that whatever was behind the wall would tip the scales in the war raging across the Seven Isles. If that were indeed the case, then he had to stay the course.
After a week of digging, the crew came to a body buried in the dirt.
“Supervisor Doyle,” Hod called out. “I found a body.” He backed away from the corpse.
“Dig him out and load him into the cart,” Doyle said.
The hour that followed was gruesome. The bodies of six men, buried alive and crushed from the weight of the cave-in, were exhumed, one after the other. Once the grisly task was complete, the masons went to work again.
Hod sat down next to Alexander and Miles, shaking his head in dismay. “That could have been us in there.”
“No,” Miles said without elaborating.
“What do you mean?” Hod asked.
“We were pulled out of there for a reason,” Miles said.
“What are you saying?” Alexander asked.
“Deep-shaft miners are political slaves,” Miles said. “People who speak out against the king or make trouble for the powers that be get assigned to the most dangerous work. Really just a death sentence without saying as much.”
***
Alexander lay down that night thinking of Isabel. He was torn between his need to discover the secrets behind the ancient wall and his desire to see his wife. Her plan had either worked or it hadn’t. If not, she was probably being held by Phane. Either way, she would be expecting him to reach out to her … and she would be worrying that he hadn’t. He could go to her right now, but that would mean removing the slave collar, and once it was off, there was no practical way to get it back out of the aether and around his neck again, since it could only be opened with the master ring it was bound to—the one worn by Titus Grant. He had to be ready to make his move before he removed it and he didn’t have enough information yet.
Benny came back to work the next morning, his injuries healing but still causing him some pain. Of far more interest to Alexander were the ripples of fear in his colors every time the man looked at him. Something had changed.
During the first break that morning, while the masons did their work, Benny sat down next to Alexander.
“So, you never did say where you’re from.”
“No, I didn’t,” Alexander said, closing his eyes.
Benny hesitated, his colors swirling with fear and anxiety.
“Well, where are you from?”
Alexander sighed, opening his eyes. “I’m tired, Benny. If I tell you, will you let me rest?”
“Sure,” Benny said a little too eagerly.
“I was born in southern Ruatha. My sister and I fled the war and got attacked by pirates. Our ship sank off the coast of Andalia and we ended up here,” Alexander said, closing his eyes again but watching Benny’s colors intently.
“What did you do on Ruatha?”
“I thought you were going to let me rest.”
“Back to work,” Doyle said.
At the next break, Benny sat next to Alexander again.
“So you have a sister,” he said. “What’s she look like?”
“She’s too young for you, Benny.”
“Oh … I … well, I didn’t mean that,” he said. “I was just wondering. Trying to make conversation.”
“She has coppery red hair and freckles across her nose and cheeks,” Alexander said.
Benny frowned in confusion. “But I thought she had blond hair.” No sooner had he spoken than his colors flared with alarm. “I mean, don’t most women from Ruatha have blond hair?”
“No, not really,” Alexander said. “I suspect it’s just like anywhere else.” While he remained outwardly calm, his mind raced to understand exactly what was happening. Benny had never been this inquisitive before and both his colors and his knowledge of Abigail betrayed him. Alexander suspected that the Acuna had paid him a visit while he was recuperating from his injuries—but how had they come to suspect Alexander’s true identity?
It was entirely possible, given Andalia’s relationship with Phane, that the Reishi Prince had used his mirror to locate Alexander and then sent word to the Babachenko. But if that were so, why hadn’t they come for him? Surely, Phane would demand that he be captured at once.
Whatever the case, Benny’s knowledge of Abigail’s blond hair was alarming and it was good reason to make his move sooner rather than later.
That evening, the crew reached the warded wall. The moment it became visible, Doyle halted work, pulling the detail out of the mine
and sending everyone back to their barracks. Six overseers took up guard positions around the tunnel entrance after the miners and masons filed out.
Chapter 10
“Alex Valentine!” Doyle bellowed over the din of breakfast.
“Here,” Alexander said, raising his hand.
“Finish up. Lord Grant wants to see you. The rest of you will be reassigned to other mines outside of the city.”
“Why?” Miles asked. Many of the other miners nodded, wondering the same thing.
“This mine has been closed by order of the Babachenko until additional safety measures can be put in place,” Doyle said. “Factor Laxman is making a big stink about the men who died down there the other day so we’re shut down.”
“Where will we go?” Benny asked.
“Lord Grant will have your assignments after breakfast,” Doyle said. “You’ll all know soon enough.”
Events were starting to move more quickly. Alexander had no doubt that he’d been singled out for reasons that had nothing to do with mining. He finished his gruel and reported to Doyle.
“Ah, there you are,” Doyle said. “Follow me.”
He led Alexander out into the yard in front of the slave barracks. A number of wagons equipped with cages were being prepared while Grant sat at a table off to the side, reviewing documents. He looked up with irritation when Alexander and Doyle approached.
“Here’s the man you asked for,” Doyle said.
“Oh … your sister says you know horses.”
“Yes sir, I do. We grew up on a ranch.”
“Good enough,” Grant said, turning in his chair. “Rollins!” he shouted across the yard. A man attending to the tack and harness of one of the horse teams dropped what he was doing and trotted over to the table.
“Yes, Lord Grant?”
“Here’s your new man. Put him to work. Once you’re done with the wagons, take him to the house and get him settled in.”
“Yes, My Lord,” Rollins said, not waiting to be dismissed. Grant went back to his papers without a second look. Alexander felt a keen sense of blindness at not being able to see Grant’s colors. He’d relied on his magical insight for so long that he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the man—except that his lack of colors was of great interest in and of itself.
“Come on, come on,” Rollins said over his shoulder as he hurried back toward the team he’d been hitching to a wagon. “You have to keep up, especially on a day like today.”
Alexander trotted behind him. Rollins was a tall, lanky man with a completely bald head and a neatly trimmed white beard and mustache. His eyes were brown, his hands work-worn, and his face ruddy with exertion. His colors were those of a man who had a job to do and no interest in other matters. That suited Alexander just fine. Whatever game was being played behind the scenes, Alexander doubted that Rollins had any part in it.
That still left plenty of things for him to worry about and more than enough unanswered questions, but Rollins didn’t give him a moment to think about either. The man was driven and he demanded that his stablehands work at least as hard as he did. By the time they were finished hitching all of the wagons, Alexander was starting to wonder if working in the mine hadn’t been easier.
Once the last of the wagons loaded with Grant’s slaves rolled out of the yard, Rollins took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“You … what was your name again?”
“Alex.”
“You did well enough for your first day, Alex, but I’ll expect better from you as you learn the job. Come with me and I’ll get you settled in at Grant Manor.
“First things first,” Rollins continued while they walked through the ancient and hauntingly beautiful architecture of Mithel Dour. “That collar around your neck will let you have the run of the city, but if you try to leave, it’ll kill you. Lord Grant will need you to run errands for him on occasion, so it’s best for you to learn the streets and the customs.”
Two overseers were walking down the street toward them. As they neared, Rollins stepped up against the wall, pulling Alexander with him, and looked down, averting his eyes. Alexander mimicked him, watching the flare of smug satisfaction and power in the overseers’ colors as they marched past.
“Let that be another lesson,” Rollins said with just a hint of acid. “Don’t give the overseers any reason to question you. They can beat you to death in the street or activate your collar and let you choke while they laugh … and no one will even ask them why.”
Alexander just nodded, not trusting himself to speak lest he betray his true feelings.
“Truth be told, you’ve been given a gift,” Rollins said once they were well out of earshot of the overseers. “Working in the stables is a far better life than working the mines—just remember, as long as you wear that collar, you can always be reassigned.
“Now don’t get me wrong, Lord Grant is a fair master. If you do a good job, after ten or twelve years, he may allow you to buy your freedom; although, I wouldn’t recommend it unless you’ve been accepted into a guild first. Free men don’t stay free for long around here unless they have guild protection.”
“Hear one, hear all,” a crier shouted. “The Acuna has uncovered a new threat, a conspiracy of such evil that it threatens our very way of life. The Ruathan scourge has invaded our home and is sowing the seeds of treason on Andalian soil. The enemy has joined with the criminals and brigands in the sequestered territories to challenge our enlightened way of life and cast our civilization into darkness. The king calls on one and all to renew your commitment to service, to embrace the necessary sacrifices so that we may all survive this terrible threat. Most of all, the king commands you to report any suspicious activity at once.”
Rollins didn’t give the crier a second look, though there were a few people who had stopped to hear his words. Anxiety lit up their colors as they conferred with one another about the new development.
Alexander smiled inwardly. He suspected that his message to General Talia during the fight with the pirates had prompted him to move into Andalia. While the number he’d sent was undoubtedly small, they would probably be working to incite resistance within the people of Andalia against their own government. Talia was a student of war and an avid reader of history. He would design his strategy to cause maximum disruption at a minimum cost.
“What do you think about what that man was saying?”
“Not much,” Rollins said. “As in, I wouldn’t give it a second thought. Of course, I wouldn’t say that too loudly either. The walls have ears around here.”
Alexander waited for him to continue but he just walked on without another word.
“How do you mean?”
Rollins looked at him and then looked around carefully before speaking. “The man who used to have the job you’re taking—he liked to talk about the powers that be, used to speculate about their goals and such. Two nights ago, he vanished … went to his bunk that night and simply wasn’t there the following morning. You’ll find that’s the way of things around here. Talk too often or too loudly about important people, and like as not, you’ll disappear too.”
“Where do they go?”
“Don’t know and don’t care to know,” Rollins said.
They walked on, Alexander pondering the nature of Andalian society in silence until he caught a glint of silver out of the corner of his mind’s eye. A coin lay in the gutter. He started to reach for it, but Rollins roughly pulled him away.
“Don’t ever do that,” he whispered. “If the overseers catch you, they’ll beat you to death for treason.”
“But it’s just a coin.”
“No, it’s not,” Rollins said, pointing to a wanted poster tacked to a nearby bulletin board. The picture was only a silhouette of a head but the name read: Nightshade. “The most wanted criminal in all of Andalia is fond of taunting the authorities. He steals shipments of silver bound for the war effort and then scatters the coins around the streets for people to find li
ke hidden treasure. The king has decreed that picking up a coin on the street is stealing from the people and punishable by death.”
“Seems I have a lot to learn,” Alexander said.
“Here’s a good rule of thumb,” Rollins said, “do only what you’re told to do and nothing else. Remember that and you’ll stay out of trouble.”
Alexander held his tongue and walked on until they came to a beautiful four-story manor house built into the stone of the cliff wall looking out over the plains of Andalia below. The sun was just setting, casting an orange glow over the fluid arches and seamless stonework. The property was surrounded by a high wall and flanked on either side by similar estates.
A pair of private guards nodded to Rollins as he passed under the arched entry into a courtyard bounded by perfectly manicured gardens.
“Stay out of the main house unless you’re told to go inside,” Rollins said. “The stables have quarters above. You’ll share a room with another of my hands, a man by the name of Ritter. He’s not terribly friendly; likes horses more than people.”
“I can identify with that,” Alexander said.
“In that case, maybe you two will get along just fine, but I doubt it.”
A clanging rang out over the yard and Rollins frowned, checking the position of the sun.
“Didn’t think it was so late already. That was the supper call. We’ll eat and then I’ll show you the stables.”
The meal was better than he’d had working in the mines but it was still not quite enough. The dining hall was full of estate hands with only two private guards at the door, both looking bored. The majority of the people in the room wore slave collars.
“Meals are served three times a day,” Rollins said. “If you miss a meal, you go hungry, so listen for meal call and come here when you hear it.” He was finished eating before Alexander was half done. “You’d better hurry up, there’s still work to do.”
Alexander choked down the remains of his dinner and followed Rollins out into the paddock.
Linkershim (Sovereign of the Seven Isles: Book Six) Page 12
