Chapter 7 - Trust & Hope

  “Trust you when you don't even trust me,” Rask grumbled.

  Aarondel Caranel. A man Rask had once upon a time tried assassinating on rumors alone. Near two years had blinked away since. Lord Caranel had proved himself beyond expectations. He'd raised north Xenaria's economic standing after the rebellion and Jasim Galadin's greed had seen the region devastated. He'd asked second sons of his subjects and beyond to enlist themselves to his service if they stood to inherit none of their father's farms or minor estates with the promise of good pay. Hundreds had come, all of them trained by Rask to serve differing purposes. Some became rangers, charged with both hunting wolves and deer, and reducing the inflated number of bandits that had once plagued the roads. Hunting brought in pelts and meats worth trading, while culling bandit numbers renewed merchant trade routes.

  Others of these new recruits were made into sentries to watch the borders of Red Vine and other small villages in north Xenaria. What remained became loggers, mappers, and now miners, it seemed. The ?ld Mountains were a region unexplored, but that came with good reason. In the frigid regions beyond the mountain range lived various warring tribes of the Virk peoples. They were known to many as a savage and barbarous group.

  Of course, those were what the rumors painted them as. Much the same rumors had arisen of the Papillion Forest, but the truth had been very different.

  Regardless, in a desperate drive to improve north Xenaria, Lord Caranel was exploring lands kept alone for centuries. Even the Spinewood had not been used for its endless pines. Rumors of Silver Tails and other creatures of unsavory nature had long kept people out. Advice Aarondel dismissed too often as hearsay.

  Rask was more than curious about where his lord's knowledge stemmed from. A former pirate brought in to be a Trillian puppet, yet he actively worked against them, stealing back their tribute even.

  Strangest of all was the creature called Viper. A Shadow Walker. Beings known to all as Darkspawn. Rask had been wary of Viper at first, but as time went by, he saw the creature as nothing more than a young man who kept his face masked. I keep the existence of the Shadow Walker secret, and still Lord Caranel does not trust me.

  A blow to his pride for certain, but Rask was beyond the age where such trivial things would bother him. The most he could do was guide the young lord to the best of his ability. Which proved hard with his apparent disdain for not just High House Galadin, but all other High Houses as well.

  The first cries of Silver Tails announced the day's end. The sun was still above the treeline, but it would dip soon enough, sending lengthy shadows toward the base camp. Rask grunted as he climbed over a particularly steep part of the ground to reach a more level area where a dozen workers in sweat damp homespun shirts rested, laughing with waterskins in hand. Their sledgehammers rested at their feet. They'd cracked a hole into the mountain wall behind them, and from the burning light of evening's end, Rask could see the outline of old wood pillars beyond the cave mouth. A mineshaft indeed.

  “Lanterns,” Aarondel commanded. “Keep them shuttered. We don't want any dust explosions.”

  Moments later, several lanterns were alight. Aarondel looked ready to lead himself. Rask took a lantern and entered ahead. The smell hit first, something between rotting leaves and metals. The wood posts, though greyish and scarred, seemed otherwise unharmed.

  “The place stinks,” the baker complained.

  Rask frowned, turning to see Valencia behind him. She clutched her cloak like a girl might clutch her skirt when walking a muddy trail.

  “Keep your eyes peeled for signs of habitation,” Aarondel said, entering with his hand resting on the pommel of his Artifact blade. Something he supposedly came by during his time as a pirate.

  Another of his secrets that I'm keeping…

  “There are animals living in this fetid place?” the baker asked.

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  “Animals? No. Ratmen and imps, maybe.”

  Valencia looked aghast. She turned to the exit just as the workers were crowding it, entering one by one. Wolves howled outside and the baker stepped back on instinct, keeping a scant few inches between herself and Rask.

  Rask shook his head. “What am I looking for specifically?”

  “Feces, fur patches, footprints if you can see them,” Aarondel said.

  “Great,” the baker muttered.

  Rask kept a keen watch, seeing nothing of the sort. The walls of the place, were dark grey for the most part, with hints of a deep purple here and there. The shaft went straight ahead for a hundred paces before opening up to a wide chamber that had three separate paths leading further inside. Broken picks with rusted points were piled to one side. There were wheelbarrows also, all of them stacked with ore.

  The smile on the young lord's face then was the like of a merchant who'd stumbled upon a most favorable situation. He picked up a fist sized rock, turning it over as if examining the ore's quality. Probably is examining it. The boy's depth of knowledge on various topics is troubling.

  “Magnetite,” Aarondel breathed. He ran his hands along the chambers walls, staring at it like a child discovering the three moons for the first time. “Split up!” he ordered. “Four per tunnel. Go no further than two hundred paces. Search for any signs of Darkspawn life. If you find nothing, then return.”

  Valencia made a point of standing next to Rask and Aarondel, the only two armed with actual weapons. Not that that would make an ounce of difference in these narrow tunnels if luck turned sour.

  It did not. Each group came back reporting no sightings of habitation. Aarondel led the group back outside, asking the workers to bring with them the wheelbarrows which functioned rather well for how old they must have been. Which has to be more than a thousand years. There should be records of this place, yet there are not.

  The only known time when Illusterra's history had been threatened to near ruin was the War of Ashes. Entire cultures and civilisations had been ruined in the war. Could it be, that this mine dated back over forty—five hundred years? If so, how did Lord Caranel catch wind of it, and know of which exact mountain the shafts were built in?

  Rask was growing increasingly curious, but as his lord would have it, he stayed silent. That was where Aarondel differed with Lord Serene. He closed himself from others, save for the one called Viper. He seldom considered differing opinions. Worst for it, his own viewpoints tended to prove right, which made Rask fear for the day they might be proved wrong. A man not used to failure could break down if met with it too late in his life.

  ***

  The Wolf of Metsiphon's curiosity shone like an oil stain on a white shirt. His usual strict personality was stripped of him by questions he wanted answered. But like the loyal man he was, he did not voice them. Aaron found himself impressed by such discipline. I should expect nothing less of the Shining General's right hand.

  Impressed or not, a part of Aaron remained apprehensive. Rask had kept his word, staying silent about Viper, and about Aaron's 'Artifact', but he'd served High House Serene, a fact that could not be forgotten. A house descended from a line of traitors. Sins of the past did not carry through generations. Yet rage from the treachery during the deposition years had been left to simmer for centuries. Aaron held those memories now, and the hatred of his ancestors had been inherited by him.

  He let out a long sigh, pushing such strong emotions on the back burner with the aid of his Butter Knife, which too readily devoured hatred in exchange for power. For now, he had a region to improve, and a throne to reclaim. A long path forward.

  Cries of Crag Eaters echoed from the slopes as the giant rock eating birds returned to their nests in the peaks to roost. Aaron led his group down to the base camp, allowing his workers time to rest and sup while the night dawned in full and the three sisters rose to the sky to take the sun's place. The youngest of the working men made limp attempts at wooing Valencia's apprentices.

  For the flicker of a candle flame, Aaron's thoughts wandered to that of Eksa's burning hair and lush pink lips. He breathed that thought away with his next exhale, eyeing the wheelbarrows full of rich iron ore. Enough evidence to provide to the veteran miners he'd poached from House Galadin's employ. A few letters and promises here and there, and abused workers were more than willing to try their hand with a different employer, even if that meant moving their families hundreds of miles across bandit country.

  Not that that's much of a problem any longer. Merchants were returning to Red Vine and the villages within House Caranel's vast, fertile demesne. Tinkers and performers were arriving as well. The Triluna festival was a handful of cycles away, and for the first time in two years, the people of Red Vine showed genuine mirth in their daily conversations and interactions. The small town was bustling as should any making ready for celebrations.

  Are you proud of me yet, mother?

  No. She wouldn't be proud. Not yet. Not until he could do for all of Xenaria what he'd done for but a portion of it. Still a long road to walk ahead. Only, that path involved facing a man many of Aaron's ancestors had failed to kill. Odain held the throne, and Xenaria was being run into the ground. It would've been lost to the might of the Lord Sun already if not for the stubborn resistance of High Houses Serene and Coraine. Both, though, were wounded birds.

  Do I clip their bleeding wings and bide my time to usurp the throne from Odain, or do I ally myself with the birds and bring war to his doorstep?