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Authors: D.K. Holmberg
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shrugged. “It was one of those rains that didn’t stop. None of the taverns would let me in. Too young, they said.” He shook his head. A strand of his hair came loose and he flicked it back. “More likely they knew I didn’t have any coin. By the time I reached Upper Town, I needed a place to dry off and the metal drew me to it. You know how much they have there. Saw the fire and the open window. Only learned later that it was part of the palace. Seems to me the family wouldn’t take such offense to me sleeping in front of the fire, but here I am.” He flicked his gaze around the cavern. “Can’t say this is too bad, either. Blanket keeps me warm. Food keeps me full. Work isn’t so bad, as long as you’re careful.”
The boy crept a little closer. “Take out the small pieces, like the one in your pocket. Ignore the music from the bigger ones. Let them be found by accident.”
Rsiran looked down toward his pocket, patting the small lump of lorcith still there. When he looked up again, the boy was gone, having disappeared once more into the shadows.
Rsiran did not sleep well again that night.
Chapter 9
T he next few days were much the same. Each day he awoke to the whistle, having lain awake so late into the night that when sleep finally found him, he did not want to get up. Each meal consisted of the same mush and slice of crusty bread. Other than the work, he had little way of knowing day from night.
Following the boy’s advice, he made a point of avoiding the larger veins of lorcith, as well as the thin man who seemed to watch him. He knew where the lorcith veins were, could feel them hidden and buried within the rock, almost clamoring for him to free them. But he resisted, choosing instead only the smaller nuggets that fit within his pocket. Of these, he kept a few.
Every day he wondered how long he would be left mining. How long before his father learned he ignored the lorcith and allowed him to return to his apprenticeship? How long before the thin man came to him with questions?
Rsiran had decided the man had to know Brusus. There was a similarity to their gaze, and the intense way he stared, and the almost knowing look he wore on his face. And if he knew Brusus, Rsiran wanted to stay as far from him as possible. When he did finally get free of the mines, he didn’t want to end up drawn into Brusus’s plans. He wanted to return to the smithy, and complete his apprenticeship.
He heard no more talk about why the flow of lorcith had slowed. Mostly because Rsiran simply didn’t listen. If he stayed in the shadows, the others would ignore him. He needed to bide his time until his father summoned him back, and do nothing more.
But the days went by painfully slow. Rsiran had been amazed at how quickly the first day had gone, but in hindsight, that was likely because of his focus on freeing the lorcith. Once it was taken from him, he found his time spent more on clearing the loose debris from the floor of the tunnel than actual mining.
He had been working the mines, day sliding to night with nothing other than the steady hammering of the pick upon the stone, for over a week when he lost himself again.
He didn’t know how it happened. One moment he worked on a smallish nugget of the ore of the size he could drop and leave behind. Never anything larger. Those he made a point of avoiding, of straining to ignore the music like the boy suggested. Rsiran started working in a remote part of the tunnel, away from the others as much as he could manage. The pick started falling almost on its own. Before he knew it, he had freed a sizeable chunk of lorcith. This was almost as large as the one he had found the first day. Both were much larger than what he normally saw in his father’s shop.
Today, the boy was not in the same tunnel as he was. So often they managed to work in the same mines that Rsiran began to find his presence reassuring. He moved to block the lorcith as it sat near the tunnel wall and
The boy crept a little closer. “Take out the small pieces, like the one in your pocket. Ignore the music from the bigger ones. Let them be found by accident.”
Rsiran looked down toward his pocket, patting the small lump of lorcith still there. When he looked up again, the boy was gone, having disappeared once more into the shadows.
Rsiran did not sleep well again that night.
Chapter 9
T he next few days were much the same. Each day he awoke to the whistle, having lain awake so late into the night that when sleep finally found him, he did not want to get up. Each meal consisted of the same mush and slice of crusty bread. Other than the work, he had little way of knowing day from night.
Following the boy’s advice, he made a point of avoiding the larger veins of lorcith, as well as the thin man who seemed to watch him. He knew where the lorcith veins were, could feel them hidden and buried within the rock, almost clamoring for him to free them. But he resisted, choosing instead only the smaller nuggets that fit within his pocket. Of these, he kept a few.
Every day he wondered how long he would be left mining. How long before his father learned he ignored the lorcith and allowed him to return to his apprenticeship? How long before the thin man came to him with questions?
Rsiran had decided the man had to know Brusus. There was a similarity to their gaze, and the intense way he stared, and the almost knowing look he wore on his face. And if he knew Brusus, Rsiran wanted to stay as far from him as possible. When he did finally get free of the mines, he didn’t want to end up drawn into Brusus’s plans. He wanted to return to the smithy, and complete his apprenticeship.
He heard no more talk about why the flow of lorcith had slowed. Mostly because Rsiran simply didn’t listen. If he stayed in the shadows, the others would ignore him. He needed to bide his time until his father summoned him back, and do nothing more.
But the days went by painfully slow. Rsiran had been amazed at how quickly the first day had gone, but in hindsight, that was likely because of his focus on freeing the lorcith. Once it was taken from him, he found his time spent more on clearing the loose debris from the floor of the tunnel than actual mining.
He had been working the mines, day sliding to night with nothing other than the steady hammering of the pick upon the stone, for over a week when he lost himself again.
He didn’t know how it happened. One moment he worked on a smallish nugget of the ore of the size he could drop and leave behind. Never anything larger. Those he made a point of avoiding, of straining to ignore the music like the boy suggested. Rsiran started working in a remote part of the tunnel, away from the others as much as he could manage. The pick started falling almost on its own. Before he knew it, he had freed a sizeable chunk of lorcith. This was almost as large as the one he had found the first day. Both were much larger than what he normally saw in his father’s shop.
Today, the boy was not in the same tunnel as he was. So often they managed to work in the same mines that Rsiran began to find his presence reassuring. He moved to block the lorcith as it sat near the tunnel wall and
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