by Marin Landis
“Inconvenience? Is that what you call it?” His voice was becoming louder and more high pitched. “You’ve delayed years of work, centuries of planning to keep things running smoothly and some half-witted lout and his whore somehow manage to fuck it all up.”
“Your Highness, as I said, it was my father who…” Melvekior didn’t get to finish.
“No, don’t blame your father. He didn’t have the wit for this. Take responsibility for your own actions. I have no idea how you figured out what the Neral does or what reversed the process, but I intend to find out. I will wring it out of your woman. Painfully.” He laughed in an attempt to sound cruel and heartless no doubt, but Melvekior wasn’t impressed and was losing his temper rapidly.
“Prince Sunar,” he stepped forward, “I insist that you return Janesca to my care. This has been an unfortunate circumstance but nothing you can do now will change what has happened. I will not allow her to be harmed.” He realized he was clenching his fist and noticed Sunar look down at it.
“You seek to threaten me? Me?” He shouted. “I should have your guts for my garters, whelp.” His face was growing red. His companion reached out to him and grasped his wrist.
“Father, do not upset yourself, remember the danger.” That’s not his son, there must be something here he was missing.
“Can we come to an understanding, Sunar? I will not leave here a fugitive.” This was not even a very veiled threat. He was confident that neither Sunar nor his ‘son’ could stop him and by not using an honorific he was making it very clear that he would do whatever it took to leave a free man, his name untarnished, his lands his own. Even he did not know whether or not he would follow up on that threat.
The boy tried to say something and was clearly becoming agitated.
“Don’t move,” Accus hissed, “we’re not screwing about.”
The young man jumped and moved back against the curtain, eyes wide. He was probably still smarting from the beating Melvekior dealt him years ago.
“Don’t worry, Marcus,” Sunar said soothingly, holding his arm before the boy. Whether stopping him from running or out of protectiveness, Melvekior did not know. “Very well, I had it in mind that you would stew for another day in my dungeons and then be more amenable to my suggestion, but now is as good a time as any.” He started to pace back and forwards, head bowed, as though in deep thought. “I have a problem, and now you have a problem. What I propose will solve both of our problems.” He paused.
“Go on,” Melvekior said, impatient and also concerned he may be stalling for time.
Sunar walked to the edge of the floor map and said, “Here,” he waved his arm and a pinpoint of light became apparent on the map, “are the Mines of Amaranth. Do you know their significance?”
“Of course,” Melvekior understood well. “The mines are the only known source of Volcanium. Which is why you and the other kingdoms share dominion of Amaranth so as to keep balance, preventing war.”
“Yes, so the story goes. There is, however, something much more precious in those mines. Something for which I would swap all the Volcanium in the world. Neral. You,” he spun suddenly with a manic look in his eyes, “took mine and you need to replace it.”
Melvekior breathed a sigh of relief, is that all it would take? A simple mining expedition. Though were this substance so easy to get it would be more common.
“Otherwise,” the Prince continued, “I shall have no choice but to experiment more on your woman. And have you executed.” He added the last part as an afterthought and didn’t seem too sure of himself.
“I will do as you ask, Sunar, but don’t think to threaten me. We have a deal and I will fulfill its requirements. And then my debt is clear.” Melvekior also felt that they were playing some sort of game and he was glad that it was over.
“Splendid. Now let’s put all that nastiness behind us, sit like gentlemen, have a drink and let me tell you what I know of the mines.” He raised his hand as Melvekior made a move to speak. “Do not worry, your woman is fine, she’ll be my guest until you return.”
That was the best he was going to get, so he didn’t say what he was going to say, merely nodded and stepped aside to allow Prince Sunar to strut past him followed by his ‘son’.
The change in the man was noticeable. From aggressive and paranoid to friendly and collaborative. Melvekior suspected that facing his own mortality had soured his temperament somewhat.
“It feels good to have a purpose again, Melvekior. It’s an unfortunate circumstance we’re in, I’m in,” he corrected himself, “but an immortal needs something to stimulate him. When I think about it now there are dozens of mysteries I could explore, but I’ve been too concerned with staying alive.” His eyes were bright and hands animated.
They sat at a table, Marcus had gone, just the three of them and shared a jug of wine. Sunar had promised to share the secrets to the Mines of Amaranth and of the Neral.
Accus was impatient, one could tell by his fidgeting and Melvekior also wanted to just get on with it, but also wanted some proper sleep. The room was sparse in its decoration, an adjunct of the kitchen, quite possibly a dining area for the servants. There were none here now and Melvekior suspected none would enter with their ruler here.
There were shelves lining the walls and a large barrel of water, sacks of grains, boxes of foodstuffs and the table at which they sat. Plain wood, no ornamentation and the chairs didn’t match each other A pale yellow wood it was, pocked and scarred with the years of knives being rammed into it and hot plates placed upon it.
Sunar had appropriated bread and cheese and the wine from the adjoining kitchen and dumped them on the table between them. He absently gnawed on a heel of bread as he traced someone’s name carved into the table. Deep in thought.
“Right then. I know my brother forced you to sign an oath saying you would reveal nothing about this piece of hidden history. Well, this is part of that same history. You are bound to keep this all a secret.”
Melvekior nodded and Accus muttered.
“I’m guessing that my brother didn’t explain to you where the Neral came from, so I’ll give you an idea where to get some. I’ll need only a thumb-sized amount and it should be simple to harvest. The mines are guarded of course by a large number of the Deniers, but I’ll give you a seal which will get you past them. The mines themselves are your average mining operation. We don’t allow a large amount of Volcanium to be mined and flood the market so there shouldn’t be many people around to worry you. Now, roughly half a mile west of the main mine entrance is another, smaller entrance. This one has no guards but the path is not accessible unless you’ve passed the main contingent of guardsmen. It will be difficult to find, none have passed that way in over three hundred years. There is a single route within the cave, it’s a long one. Eventually though, it will lead you to your goal. Trust me, you won’t miss it. Take only as much as I require, no more and you must not speak of this to anyone.”
“Will we need tools?” asked Accus. “Is the Neral, as you call it, not guarded? Surely it is more difficult than merely walking through a long underground passageway. My order has been seeking this material for decades; it is the primordial stuff of pure magic from which Ain-Ordra was born and it sustains her through unlife. How did you just stumble on to it?”
Melvekior looked at Accus. He was looking sullen, sulky even.
“I know little of your sect, Accus. My brothers and I discovered these caves three centuries ago. We were marauding brigands and had wreaked havoc on the town of Stonehaven, which once stood where Amaranth is now. Escaping from their militia we hid in what are now the mines. Cal and I were able to enter the main body of the mines before being caught, but Thacritus wasn’t so lucky. He was captured and tortured in a most horrific manner before escaping in the dead of night. Failing to find the mine entrance in the dark, he came across an ancient door hidden by the dirt of ages and forced himself in. What he found behind that door invigorated him and he found us
and took us to it. Armed with the power of eternal life we have wrought what you now see before you. The might of the Three Kingdoms.” He waved his arms theatrically. A lot like his older brother, Melvekior noted.
“You struck lucky then, I suppose.” Accus murmured.
“Luck, fate, call it what you will, sulky one. Maybe your cult isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, eh?”
Accus didn’t answer, merely looked into his cup of water.
“Cheer up, you got us out of that cell,” Melvekior slapped him on the back. “Can we have a room, and a bath and we’ll head off first thing. Please, Your Highness?” He remembered his manners now that he was no longer stressed or felt in danger, though he knew that Sunar wasn’t entirely trustworthy.
Ensconced in some rooms befitting his station he felt hopeful of the future. He’d bring back this Neral, keeping an eye on Accus as he wanted to keep the oath he made, to take only what was necessary for Sunar and free Janesca, clearing his own name in the process. He then could continue his search for the truth about his mother and the truth behind the risen dead and the connection between them.
Melvekior fell asleep to hazy thoughts of his mother and the sun shining through her hair.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Mine
“My piety grew within me, almost without my conscious knowledge.” - Melvekior
Another trip through the Fassway made getting to the mines simple, getting access to them was not. At first the guards at the post wouldn’t even let them speak until Melvekior started remonstrating in the way that only nobles know how. Even with the missive from Sunar, he managed to make little traction until someone ran off to find a superior. The guard Captain came then and snatched the parchment from his hand and peered at it closely.
“Wait here!” he snapped, whistled for his horse and rode off with their document. They stood outside the guard hut, Melvekior in his armor that he’d polished for half an hour after waking. It was difficult to look at him in the bright sunshine and even at that hour of mid morning the sun was strong and reflected off his breastplate like a bright flame. Accus was in his earth tone peasant garb and seemed to appreciate the anonymity. A fully armed knight and a black robed magician might look odd, but now he just looked like a squire and blended into the background. None of these guards had addressed him. Probably for the best as Melvekior knew how to address military men, Accus probably did not.
The guards stayed inside their little hut while the pair waited outside. Their Captain had harsh words with them before he left, for interrupting him no doubt. Nobody was allowed in the mines.
Less than an hour later, but not much less, the Captain arrived, his sudden stop kicking up dust from the dirt road. He was red faced from exertion and his hair matted from stress and probably from wearing the ridiculous plumed helmet he put on immediately he dismounted.
He saluted and Melvekior returned the salute. An Earl outranks a Captain by a great deal and obviously this man had been told who Melvekior was.
“Lord Martelle, forgive my haste but we get little interest in the mines,” he gasped, out of breath.
“No harm done, Captain. I assume then that your superiors have confirmed our right to inspect the mines? Unimpeded.” He reached out and pulled the rolled up parchment from the Captain’s belt where he had transported it.
“They have, Lord. However I would be happy to escort you. It can be treacherous and some of the miners, should you run into them, are a rum lot, with little respect for anyone not of their kind.”
“Never mind that, I’m more than capable of dealing with insolence.” Melvekior raised his eyebrow and the guard Captain took his meaning.
“Ahh yes, sorry about that, Lord. Well, I hope you, um, enjoy your visit.”
“Thank you, Captain. Don’t let us keep you.”
The man blinked once and turned on his heels and strode into the hut. There was silence from within, but Melvekior knew that as soon as they were out of earshot someone would take a jolly good telling off.
It was a further half a mile to the mine entrance. They merely followed the road of hard packed earth and dust.
“You’d think with Volcanium being so valuable they’d increase the size of their mining operation,” said Accus.
“It’s as little as a cart a week I’ve heard,” replied the knight. “Remember what Sunar said last night. They maintain a high demand for the substance by keeping it scarce. I studied economics, well I was taught it anyway. It’s the sort of thing that isn’t immediately obvious. Were they to mine more, the price would drop.”
“That makes sense.”
“Also,” continued Melvekior, “should the price drop, the poor and feckless would improve their standard of living and this would make them uneasy with being ruled. It would foment discord and cause an uprising. I wouldn’t like to put down my own people in a rebellion, so it’s better to leave them satisfied with what meager supplies of Volcanium they can save for, if any.”
Accus laughed heartily and blew his nose noisily at the side of the road.
“Why Melvekior, champion knight, I didn’t realize what an evil bastard you truly were.”
“Nonsense. All people have their place in life. If everyone was a King, who would rule?” He stopped and pointed.
Ahead was the mine entrance and as modest as they both believed it would be, the reality was terrifically underwhelming.
This was the start of the Avantes mountain range. It offered excellent protection for Amaranth as it was virtually impossible for any invading force to traverse. It encircled the city in a sickle shape, the open side of the almost-circle protected by the Forest of Eage. None had been foolish enough to attempt an incursion into Amaranth for over two centuries and these geographical advantages made it an uneasy prospect for anyone foolish enough to contemplate it.
The opening to the mine was maybe six feet tall and four wide, a wooden structure of two beams on either side and one horizontally. From this vantage point it looked as though this format carried on into the mine. Neither knew anything of the science behind such structures but it seemed reasonable that this merely bolstered the integrity of the tunnel. Bushes grew on either side and ruts left by heavy carts scarred the road here even more so than further down the path. Broken rocks and stones lay strewn about and a large boulder lay on the left, next to which led a faint trail. There was a discarded wooden door to the right of the path, half overgrown with weeds. No such protection was necessary apparently with the guards letting only mining personnel up here.
There was no light from inside and their visibility was limited.
“Lucky we’re not going in there. Look how bloody dark it is,” mentioned Melvekior and then he and Accus turned to each other.
The Earl of Martelle closed his eyes in resignation and Accus swore loudly.
“Keep it down, you bloody idiots, you’ll have the Grennan after ye!”
The companions both jumped in fright, Melvekior spun and drew his blade and fell instantly into a defensive posture. Accus lifted his right arm and clenched it into a fist.
“Oh, jumpy ain’t ye,” the voice said again and both then could pinpoint its origin.
A man, his face a smudge of dirt and hands to match, sat, legs swinging free, on an overhang seven feet up to their left on the hill which housed the square of blackness that was the mine entrance. He held in his hand a chunk of bread stuffed with something and took a bite. His clothes were of an indeterminate color and were now just brown, filthy to the point of disintegration, any attempt to clean them now would be the end of them. To his left on the ridge sat a small sack, a couple of bundles of wooden sticks and straw held together in a sort of conical metal cage and a small hound. The dog was not interested in them, but sat, ears perked, watching his master eat.
“You. Do you work in this mine?” Melvekior shouted, louder than was necessary. He’d been given a fright and was embarrassed and his adrenaline was up.
“Oh no, Milord, I’m a c
hambermaid, waiting here to do the beds.” The man affected a high pitched voice which infuriated the knight. The last person to do that ended up with a face full of broken bones.
“Of course he works in the mine,” Accus whispered. “Those torches you have at your side, sir, may we have one?” Melvekior might be able to cow soldiers with his rank, but Accus was a common man once and he knew how to deal with them. Or so he thought.
“You gonna do my work for me then?” the man asked in his crude accent.
“Erm, we have business other than that, my good fellow. Could I buy one?”
“’Ow much gold you got?”
Accus turned to Melvekior. He of course didn’t have any due to Melvekior forcing him along on this mad quest with no time to prepare.
“I have two gobbits I will give you for both torches.” He rifled in his belt pouch trying to make it appear that he had only the two coins. Reaching up, he placed them into the grasping, blackened hand of the miner who carelessly knocked the torches down.
“There’s a bucket of ‘em just inside the entrance,” he said and laughed through a mouthful of bread and cheese.
Melvekior glared at him, scooped up the torches and stalked off to his left. There was no path but he kept as close to the hillside as possible.
It was another warm day and it was extremely warm within his armor, though he would admit discomfort to nobody. He wasn’t really too annoyed by the loss of two gold pieces, nor by being taken for a ride by the miner. He just didn’t like dealing with peasants who thought they had the better of him. Had he more time he would have taught the wretch a lesson, but there were more important tasks at hand.
Accus caught up with him. “I told him that he’d better not do that again and he laughed. That guard captain wasn’t wrong, they are a breed unto themselves.”
“To the depths with him, I am unconcerned.” He was keeping a close eye on the hillside for any obvious entrances or doorways or anything that looked like it was hiding such a thing. Sunar had mentioned that none had entered the mines from this locale for centuries so it might be difficult to spot. He looked around and noticed he was higher than he realized, the way he had come being on a slight incline. He was sweating profusely and noticed that Accus too was out of breath and dripping with perspiration. This wasn’t the easiest walk, no path existed, they were treading on rocks, over bushes and often through them. So intent on finding the door Melvekior hadn’t even noticed that the hillside had become steeper.
