followed. A few finished picking at whatever they had found, but soon gave up and wandered toward the stairs and the others.
The boy gave Rsiran a worried look, biting his lip as he did. “Got to carry what you collect,” he said and hurried down the tunnel.
Rsiran grunted as he lifted the large hunk of lorcith off the cavern floor. It felt heavy, but he should be able to get it up the stairs. Perhaps the find would impress his father. Enough like this, and he might be allowed to return home soon.
He didn’t know how many stairs he had climbed when he felt something sharp bite into his back, pressing through the fabric of his shirt. He’d heard nothing warning him that anyone still remained behind.
“Set it down and keep climbing.”
Rsiran felt the hot breath on the back of his neck and started to turn. The sharp tip of a pick jabbed deeper into his back, and he froze.
“Turn, and you don’t live through the night.”
Rsiran nodded, suddenly understanding why the boy said it was dangerous to find such large collections of the ore, and remembering how he’d overheard the others talk of controlling the flow of lorcith. The pick pressed harder, and he winced as a slow trickle of blood washed down his back. He had no choice but to do as instructed.
He set the lorcith down. The pick relaxed, just a bit, and he started forward again. As he continued up the stairs, he wondered who had stolen from him, and why. Had they stolen to take credit for the lorcith, or was there another reason, the same reason the flow of lorcith had slowed?
He didn’t dare turn and look back. In the darkness, it might not have mattered anyway.
Chapter 8
R siran sat by his blanket that night, holding the dented metal bowl, the soft light from the lantern leaving everything around him in shadows. Voices around the lantern were occasionally boisterous, and the men sitting near the light seemed to be having far more fun than Rsiran. Was it his imagination, or did they look his way at times? Which of them had taken the lump from him?
And why?
His body ached, arms and legs fatigued from hammering with the pick all day, freeing the large piece of lorcith.
The pain in his back seemed worse. He couldn’t see the injury where the pick had stabbed into him but still felt the effects. His skin felt hot around where the tip had punctured his flesh; he wondered if infection had already set in.
When he’d reached the top of the stairs and rejoined the rest of the miners, he had simply trudged back up the tunnels, ignoring the foreman with the scale documenting the day’s collection. The small lump of lorcith that he found first still tucked into his pocket.
“I warned you.”
Rsiran turned, pain in his back flaring slightly as he did. The boy crouched out of reach. Shadows covered his face.
“A find that size probably paid for someone’s freedom,” he whispered and laughed. He skittered forward a step. “And kept you from yours!”
Rsiran shook his head. He shouldn’t have listened for the lorcith. It didn’t really matter that the lorcith was stolen—not for his freedom at least—but if he managed more finds like the one from today, how long before his father learned? If he couldn’t ignore unshaped lorcith, how could he ever expect to ignore its call while shaping it? Unlike the others, he needed not to find lorcith. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered.
The boy moved another step closer, enough to reveal the scratches on his arm and face. The pain in his back gave new meaning to the boy’s injuries. He pushed back a strand of his lanky hair as he stood on the edge of Rsiran’s blanket.
“You hear it, don’t you?” the boy asked.
Rsiran looked around. Near the lantern, the occasional grating laugh of the thin man overpowered other sounds as he gestured to a few of the others while lording over the lantern. His voice sounded forced, and there was a hard edge to his words. Rsiran made a point of ignoring him, but failed. He
The boy gave Rsiran a worried look, biting his lip as he did. “Got to carry what you collect,” he said and hurried down the tunnel.
Rsiran grunted as he lifted the large hunk of lorcith off the cavern floor. It felt heavy, but he should be able to get it up the stairs. Perhaps the find would impress his father. Enough like this, and he might be allowed to return home soon.
He didn’t know how many stairs he had climbed when he felt something sharp bite into his back, pressing through the fabric of his shirt. He’d heard nothing warning him that anyone still remained behind.
“Set it down and keep climbing.”
Rsiran felt the hot breath on the back of his neck and started to turn. The sharp tip of a pick jabbed deeper into his back, and he froze.
“Turn, and you don’t live through the night.”
Rsiran nodded, suddenly understanding why the boy said it was dangerous to find such large collections of the ore, and remembering how he’d overheard the others talk of controlling the flow of lorcith. The pick pressed harder, and he winced as a slow trickle of blood washed down his back. He had no choice but to do as instructed.
He set the lorcith down. The pick relaxed, just a bit, and he started forward again. As he continued up the stairs, he wondered who had stolen from him, and why. Had they stolen to take credit for the lorcith, or was there another reason, the same reason the flow of lorcith had slowed?
He didn’t dare turn and look back. In the darkness, it might not have mattered anyway.
Chapter 8
R siran sat by his blanket that night, holding the dented metal bowl, the soft light from the lantern leaving everything around him in shadows. Voices around the lantern were occasionally boisterous, and the men sitting near the light seemed to be having far more fun than Rsiran. Was it his imagination, or did they look his way at times? Which of them had taken the lump from him?
And why?
His body ached, arms and legs fatigued from hammering with the pick all day, freeing the large piece of lorcith.
The pain in his back seemed worse. He couldn’t see the injury where the pick had stabbed into him but still felt the effects. His skin felt hot around where the tip had punctured his flesh; he wondered if infection had already set in.
When he’d reached the top of the stairs and rejoined the rest of the miners, he had simply trudged back up the tunnels, ignoring the foreman with the scale documenting the day’s collection. The small lump of lorcith that he found first still tucked into his pocket.
“I warned you.”
Rsiran turned, pain in his back flaring slightly as he did. The boy crouched out of reach. Shadows covered his face.
“A find that size probably paid for someone’s freedom,” he whispered and laughed. He skittered forward a step. “And kept you from yours!”
Rsiran shook his head. He shouldn’t have listened for the lorcith. It didn’t really matter that the lorcith was stolen—not for his freedom at least—but if he managed more finds like the one from today, how long before his father learned? If he couldn’t ignore unshaped lorcith, how could he ever expect to ignore its call while shaping it? Unlike the others, he needed not to find lorcith. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered.
The boy moved another step closer, enough to reveal the scratches on his arm and face. The pain in his back gave new meaning to the boy’s injuries. He pushed back a strand of his lanky hair as he stood on the edge of Rsiran’s blanket.
“You hear it, don’t you?” the boy asked.
Rsiran looked around. Near the lantern, the occasional grating laugh of the thin man overpowered other sounds as he gestured to a few of the others while lording over the lantern. His voice sounded forced, and there was a hard edge to his words. Rsiran made a point of ignoring him, but failed. He
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