The Dark Ability: Books 1-4

by D. K. Holmberg

  Yet, should he be comfortable? They accepted his injury without too many questions. Brusus dressed like one of the Elvraeth but hung out in Lower Town. He wanted lorcith knives, so maybe feigning concern was his way to convince Rsiran to help. And from what he could tell, Jessa had stolen that box for Brusus. As far as he knew, they were criminals, the kind his father warned he would become with his ability.

  Why, then, did he feel at ease?

  “Now that we have the boy back, should you tell him your news?” Haern asked, the distant look to his face now gone.

  Brusus shrugged, a laugh trailing off as he motioned to one of the servers to come to their table. “Not so much news, but a possibility. And only if our Rsiran here were so inclined.”

  “What possibility?” he asked.

  Brusus pointed toward his glass of ale when the server approached the table, motioning to everyone at the table. The server was thin and with a round face, her black hair curling around her shoulders looking much like Alyse. She smiled fondly at Brusus before turning toward the kitchen.

  “Ah,” Brusus started. “Well… it has to do with that knife of yours.”

  Rsiran shook his head. “Not mine. You bought it.”

  Brusus smiled, twisting the ring on his finger. “And then sold it. Got a fair price, I might add.”

  Haern snorted.

  Jessa punched him in the shoulder.

  He looked at her, feigning a hurt expression. “What? He got triple what he paid!”

  Brusus’s smile deepened. “Two talen! Could probably get more once the quality is known. As of now, Rsiran’s mark isn’t well known. But with enough time and a few more blades like that, I’m sure that will change.”

  “Wait,” Rsiran said, understanding where this was leading. “I’ve already told you that I can’t make any more like that.”

  Brusus nodded, taking a long drink of ale. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you keep your cut of the profits.” Firell snorted, and Brusus turned to glare at him. “Not like I can cheat him now that he knows what I got, right?”

  Firell shrugged. “Not like you wouldn’t try.”

  Rsiran shook his head. “You don’t understand—”

  If his father learned of that, he would lose his apprenticeship for sure. And he would never be a smith.

  “Hold on before you answer. Think on it. You make a dozen of those knives, and we can sell them for ten each. Let’s say you keep half. I figure for a longer blade we might be able to get that to five talen. Possibly even a guilden. That kind of money adds up. How long it take you to make one of those knives? Couple of days?”

  Rsiran shook his head, realizing now which of the two men he’d overheard that night Brusus was. He owed someone money. “No more than a few hours.” Even that was probably a long estimate. With enough focus and the right lorcith, he could probably make one of the knives in less than an hour. And pocket a talen each. That was more money than his father made for some of his most intricate work, but what Brusus asked was forbidden by the smith guild. Too many knives and he would surely be discovered.

  “A few hours!” Brusus said too loudly. He glanced around and lowered his voice. “Damn, Rsiran, if you can make them that quickly we could turn out a couple dozen a week!”

  “I can’t, Brusus.”

  “I think if we can make a few longer blades, we can drive up the value even more,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard Rsiran.

  “I can’t,” Rsiran repeated.

  Haern watched with deeply green eyes, still spinning the fork. Jessa chewed her lip, head tilted forward as she softly inhaled the smell of the flower. Rsiran wondered if he was the only one to notice.

  Brusus kept talking for another moment before what Rsiran said seemed to register. “What do you mean you can’t? That knife was simple. Elegant.” He shook his head. “Nothing like that is made anymore!”

  Rsiran swallowed. His father would argue that knives were no longer made of lorcith for good reason, though Rsiran never really understood the reasoning. Iron or steel were fine but only for eating or decoration. Never for weapons. If the guild discovered, he wouldn’t have only his father to fear—he would be forbidden from working in a smithy by the guild.

  “I’m not exactly in good standing in my apprenticeship.”

  Brusus’s eyes widened. “Still can’t believe you’re just an apprentice. Damn, Rsiran, that knife was…” He trailed off. “How did you manage to make the others?”

  “At the end of the day. My role is to keep the shop clean, manage the forge, run supplies.” He shrugged. “I don’t really get much actual time working at the forge. That’s more for the journeymen.”

  “Life of an apprentice,” Firell said and smiled.

  Haern nodded as well.

  “So we go a little slower,” Brusus said, his enthusiasm not waning. “You make one blade a night. Even that production is more than has been seen in several centuries.”

  “Brusus… I can’t.” Rsiran didn’t even have access to a forge, at least not until his father allowed him to return from the mines. Even were he to risk his apprenticeship then by making knives, there was the small issue of whether the lorcith would even choose to become a weapon. As much as his father wanted him to learn to command the lorcith, to ignore the way it called to him, demanding he draw out the desired form, Rsiran had barely been able to ignore the soft murmuring music while working in the mines. And when he listened, it nearly killed him.

  Brusus blinked, excitement finally fading. The others around the table sat still, as if waiting to see how he would react. Finally, he clapped Rsiran on the shoulder. “Well, think on it, at least. You have a gift that we can use. Not many opportunities to make this kind of profit.” He waited until Rsiran met his eyes that flashed a soft green. “Please, think on it.”

  There was a desperation to Brusus’s voice that Rsiran hadn’t noted before. How much did he owe? And to who?

  Rsiran suddenly wished he could help Brusus. The man had helped make ensure he was healed. Shouldn’t he help him if he could?

  “Can we dice now?” Jessa asked.

  Haern laughed, and Brusus shot him a look. Haern ignored him and pulled a stack of dronr and set it on the table. “If Rsiran won’t help Brusus, looks like he’ll have to earn his coin another way. Too bad he never has much luck!”

  Jessa stifled a laugh.

  Brusus set a similar stack of coins atop the table before pulling out his leather pouch and dumping the carved dice out in a clatter. He scooped them up and waited for Firell until he set coins on the table.

  Jessa shook her head. “No money tonight. Though I think you owe me, Brusus.”

  “Do I? Ow!” he yelled as Jessa kicked him under the table. Brusus’s eyes looked down, considering the box he held between his legs, before he turned and smiled. “Maybe I can cover you for a hand. I’ll be earning my own money back anyway.”

  She kicked him again, and Brusus slid back to avoid her feet.

  “You in?” Jessa asked Rsiran.

  He shook his head. “No money, either.”

  Brusus turned and gave him a sly smile. “I think I heard of a way you could make some pretty good money. I’ll even let you keep the full price for the next one.”

  “Let it drop, Brusus,” Firell said. “I think Rsiran fears losing his apprenticeship if he accepts your offer.”

  Brusus eyed Rsiran for a moment before raising his hands. “All right! Besides, I couldn’t let him keep the two talens anyway. He owes Della two dronr for his healing.”

  “As if Della charged you two dronr!” Jessa said. Rsiran suspected that she tried to kick Brusus again but he was out of range.

  “One?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve never been charged by her once!”

  “Well, damn. Guess I will have to let him keep the two talens.”

  “Here.” Haern slid a handful of coins toward Rsiran. “You can play with my coin. I keep whatever you win.”

  “I woul
dn’t want to lose your coin.”

  “Who said anything about you losing?”

  “That’s not right!” Jessa argued, looking from Brusus to Haern. “None of the rest of us are Seers!”

  Brusus frowned and shook his head. Firell simply watched Haern.

  Haern only shrugged. “Not Seeing anything. Watched him dice before. Kid’s lucky.”

  A smile spread across Brusus’s face. “You’d better hope so, otherwise you’ll lose twice as much tonight!”

  As they began dicing, sitting around a table comfortably with others who actually wanted him there, Rsiran smiled. Maybe Haern was right. Tonight he did feel lucky. How else to explain that Jessa found him twice—first to save him and the second time to bring him back to the tavern with her. Lucky.

  He smiled. It was the first time in his life he’d felt that way. But he couldn’t help but worry: how long would it last?

  Chapter 15

  The next day was difficult. Fatigue made focusing on mining more challenging than he had expected, and Rsiran hammered away at the stone with his dull pick without paying attention to what he was doing. Only when he’d cleared a good-sized chunk of lorcith did he realize what was happening. The work, much like it did when he was working the forge, heating the lorcith and hammering it into shape, took hold of him, demanding what it would.

  He looked around. None seemed to see the size of his find, and he pushed it toward a pile of loose debris, covering it as well as he could. Thankfully, the boy had been leaving him alone, choosing to mine down a different tunnel, else he might have been seen. For some reason, Rsiran didn’t want him knowing that he was still removing the lorcith from the walls.

  The other miners worked in a staccato rhythm. A few worked smaller pieces out from the walls while most simply worked at removing stone, widening the tunnel as they went. The thin man worked in his crew today, but Rsiran didn’t think he’d seen him pull the piece of ore from the rock. The foreman assigned to them stood chewing a length of tobanash, its tangy scent hanging in the otherwise bitter air. Flames weren’t allowed—something about how the dust could ignite, the same reason the special lanterns were used rather than real flames—otherwise most preferred to smoke it rather than chew the rolled leaves.

  Sweat coated Rsiran, and his back ached where he had been cut, though not as bad as it should after such an injury. His skin felt tight, pulled and stretched as he worked, and now itched as he looked around. He dared not stand too long or else he would attract more attention. Better to work slowly than not at all.

  Turning back to the stone, he was careful to keep his lump of lorcith near his feet as he chipped away at the cave. Before returning, he had Slid home and grabbed the other knife, taking the coins with him as well. He kept the knife tucked into his pants, making certain not to move too quickly so that it didn’t dig into his flesh. The few coins he had in his pocket weighed as heavy. Were anyone to know that he had either, they would be ripped away from him, leaving questions Rsiran was not prepared to answer.

  After a while, the whistle sounded. He was careful to let the others move ahead of him. The foreman always made sure to leave the cavern first, never checking for stragglers as he carried the lantern out. Few, other than the most powerfully Sighted, would dare remain in the blackness without the meager light.

  Once everyone had moved ahead of him, he dusted the loose debris from the larger lump of lorcith and carried it toward the stairs. After a few steps, he thought he felt motion behind him. This time he was certain he had been the last to leave the cavern. Rather than linger and risk another pick wound to his back, he Slid, taking the lorcith with him.

  Stepping from the Slide, trees within the Aisl forest surrounded him, a place his mother used to bring him when he was younger. The air was damp and earthy, and broad green leaves coated the branches. Small bushes attempted to creep from the underbrush, but most were stunted, starved of light with the trees pushing together. A small clearing was nearby, one he had often explored before his father agreed he was old enough to apprentice. He had rarely returned since then, only occasionally when he needed solace. He was not sure why he chose this location for his Slide.

  Daring not to linger—there was another roll call in the evening to ensure everyone made it out of the mines—he looked for a place to stash the lorcith. He found a large tree with twisted roots coming from the ground outside the clearing. Burrowing into the ground with his pick, he freed enough space to store the lorcith and quickly covered it with loose leaves and dirt, careful to keep it as hidden as possible. He made a mental note of the tree before taking a step away and Sliding back to the staircase leading out of the tunnel. All told, he had been gone minutes, but he feared it might have been too long.

  Only after he returned did he realize that he was now what his father feared he would become—a thief, stealing lorcith from mines owned by the Elvraeth and hording it outside the city.

  Now unburdened of his load, Rsiran hurried up the stairs. There was no light, nothing for him to see by, and he worried the foremen would begin to wonder what happened to him. He doubted anyone would worry.

  He paused at the top of the stairs, seeing light and a couple dozen miners lingering near the foreman weighing the finds from the day. As he readied to step out and join them, he felt pressure at the base of his neck, cold and sharp. Wetness trickled down his neck.

  “Don’t move any farther.”

  Rsiran recognized the voice. It belonged to the same person who had attacked him twice already. How had this person managed to stay behind him on the stairs and how did they know that he had collected a large quantity of lorcith again?

  “Where is it?” the voice hissed.

  “Where is what?” Rsiran already prepared to Slide. There was no mistaking the threat in this person’s voice, no way to mistake the intended use of the pick stuck into the base of his neck. Any more pressure, and he would be dead.

  “The ore,” the voice hissed. “Where is the ore?”

  Rsiran shifted forward and felt the pressure on the back of his neck push harder. Somehow, he stood at the edge of the stairs, right before the ground opened up, but no one saw him standing there. As he moved, something shifted on his back, and he remembered the slender knife tucked into his pants.

  “I don’t have it.”

  “Where did you leave it?” The blade pressed harder.

  Rsiran nearly screamed but suspected that if he called out, his attacker would only finish him off more quickly.

  “Not here. Down in the mine,” he said, hoping to buy some time.

  “There is nothing but dirt and stone down in the mine. Where is the ore you harvested?”

  His mind raced. Somehow this person knew he had a large find today and also knew that he no longer had it with him. Had they seen him Slide? At least he didn’t feel completely helpless. He could move, Slide himself to safety, even if only forward a step…

  Rsiran had never tried such a short Slide. Even a small step would be useful, likely tiring, but would at least get him up into the open where the other miners would see him.

  Would his attacker dare follow him?

  “I don’t have it,” Rsiran said angrily.

  Then he Slid forward two steps.

  Such movement was like a flicker. One moment he was on the steps, the pick jabbed into his neck, the next moment he was two steps out into the openness of the cavern, a pair of miners standing nearby. One looked up and frowned, surprised to see him, but shrugged and turned back to the line in front of the foreman.

  Rsiran sagged, after Sliding to the Aisl forest and back, he felt weakened by even that short Slide. With his fatigue, he might not even have been able to manage a more significant Slide. He shuffled toward the table where the foreman sat, pulled out a few pieces of smaller lorcith, and set them on the table.

  The foreman glanced at them and then looked up at Rsiran, his eyes widening. “You’re bleeding,” he said.

  The words took a moment to reg
ister, and then Rsiran reached behind his head and felt his neck. There was a long slice deep into the flesh of his neck, nearly as deep as had been in his back. Blood stained his hand as he pulled it away.

  “Stones fell,” he muttered, knowing the foreman wouldn’t ask too many questions unless Rsiran said anything. Falling stones frequently injured men, and though Rsiran had never seen anything more than minor injuries, supposedly a few had even died.

  The foreman nodded. “If you need bandaging…”

  Rsiran nodded. Nothing until morning. “I’m fine.” He wobbled slightly on his feet.

  The foreman looked back down to his log and nodded, making a few notes. He waved Rsiran on and didn’t look back up.

  Rsiran took a weak step and nearly stumbled, catching himself by leaning on the wall of the cavern. Even without looking, he knew this was worse than the injury to his back.

  He staggered down the tunnel toward the sleeping cavern, dragging his hand along the wall as he walked. After taking a few steps, he dared not walk any further. His face felt hot and flushed, his legs weak and unsteady. His mind swam remembering what the healer had said about the other injury.

  Poisoned.

  Not bothering to look, he Slid. What other choice did he have if he wanted to survive? Everything blurred around him, and he staggered forward rather than stepping, and feared he had gone too far.

  Chapter 16

  When he opened his eyes, he was in the healer’s home, lying on the floor near the fireplace. His pick and small hammer fell to the floor with a clatter. There were no other sounds, only the soft crackling of flames. He tried to cry out but nothing more than a moan made it through his lips.