and scurried off to the next pair of enslaved stonecutters.
Stonecutter, Dain thought, is that what I am now?
Weeks stretched on with no sign or message from the old woman or from Jensen. Had Unsha betrayed them? Perhaps she’d died? Delivering food for so many, climbing the long flights of staggered stairs, laboring under a heavy burden—these were not tasks for someone of her age, someone frail.
A week after Unsha’s last visit, Dain’s worries returned to Nicola. He watched for signs of despair. He waited for the smoldering light of hope in her eyes to dim. He didn’t know how he could pull her out of it this time. Not when his own faith had begun to fail.
But if his own hopes waned, Nicola’s strengthened. Instead of dimming, the hope-filled light in her eyes shone brighter by the day. Her faith troubled him. If Unsha didn’t return, if Nicola’s mother failed and that light died, there would be no saving her.
His concern increased and compounded as the days stretched into weeks without word. Nicola waited alone each evening, eager to see who would bring them their meal, and each evening she seemed disappointed but not broken. She never spoke of it—not before the young bearer arrived, not afterward.
Nicola was tough, hard even, but she was still a young girl. One who rained death down upon her enemies, but a young girl all the same.
They worked without speaking. Nicola measured again. Dain cut. The heavy hammer rang out against the steel chisel. The chalky stone cracked, split, and then shattered. Dain selected a second chisel, a smaller one, and trimmed away any protrusions that misshaped the block out of square.
“Do you think something’s happened?” Nicola asked him one evening after they’d settled down into their evening meal. Unsha hadn’t come again.
“I don’t know.” He was careful in his response. A miss-spoken word could send the Pyre Rider spiraling over despair’s edge again, he suspected. At the same time, he didn’t want to keep her hopes too high, where one day they could be shattered. Like a stone block, doubts could crack a person, then split and shatter them just the same.
What to say, then?
“We will survive this. I’m sure of it,” he said. “One day we will walk out of here and be free again. But today, tomorrow, and the next day we will shape our two blocks.”
Nicola stared at the fire. She turned and faced the starry night. A falling star flashed on the western horizon.
“I believe you,” she said, just above a whisper.
Three weeks after her last visit, Unsha returned.
“Food here!” Unsha cried in her raspy voice.
Looking like she would burst, Nicola sprang to her feet, but Unsha held a withered finger to her lips, signaling for silence. The stooped woman eyed a pair of passing guards. After they had gone and Unsha dished up their food, they all huddled up together.
Nicola spoke first.
“What happened? Where have you been?”
“I was reassigned to the far end. The bearer there ‘gave up the work’.”
‘Gave up the work’Dain knew, was the Tyberon expression for a slave’s death.
“How are you here, then?” Nicola asked.
Unsha smiled crookedly.
“Fendal, the girl who had this area, came down sick tonight.” The old woman’s grin widened. “Might have been something she ate.”
There was a devious twinkle in the old woman’s eyes that gave Dain pause. If Unsha were capable of poisoning a fellow prisoner she was capable of more, much more, than he’d suspected.
And does it matter? She’s still our best and only chance at escape.
He didn’t suppose it did. The frail waif next to him, a skeletal frame in loose rags, had burned hundreds of men alive. Behind her clear gray eyes was the mind and soul of a remorseless killer. And who was he to judge either Nicola or Unsha? He himself had pillaged and razed a town. He fought and killed for wealth over honor. They had all done what they had to do in order to survive, and would do so
Stonecutter, Dain thought, is that what I am now?
Weeks stretched on with no sign or message from the old woman or from Jensen. Had Unsha betrayed them? Perhaps she’d died? Delivering food for so many, climbing the long flights of staggered stairs, laboring under a heavy burden—these were not tasks for someone of her age, someone frail.
A week after Unsha’s last visit, Dain’s worries returned to Nicola. He watched for signs of despair. He waited for the smoldering light of hope in her eyes to dim. He didn’t know how he could pull her out of it this time. Not when his own faith had begun to fail.
But if his own hopes waned, Nicola’s strengthened. Instead of dimming, the hope-filled light in her eyes shone brighter by the day. Her faith troubled him. If Unsha didn’t return, if Nicola’s mother failed and that light died, there would be no saving her.
His concern increased and compounded as the days stretched into weeks without word. Nicola waited alone each evening, eager to see who would bring them their meal, and each evening she seemed disappointed but not broken. She never spoke of it—not before the young bearer arrived, not afterward.
Nicola was tough, hard even, but she was still a young girl. One who rained death down upon her enemies, but a young girl all the same.
They worked without speaking. Nicola measured again. Dain cut. The heavy hammer rang out against the steel chisel. The chalky stone cracked, split, and then shattered. Dain selected a second chisel, a smaller one, and trimmed away any protrusions that misshaped the block out of square.
“Do you think something’s happened?” Nicola asked him one evening after they’d settled down into their evening meal. Unsha hadn’t come again.
“I don’t know.” He was careful in his response. A miss-spoken word could send the Pyre Rider spiraling over despair’s edge again, he suspected. At the same time, he didn’t want to keep her hopes too high, where one day they could be shattered. Like a stone block, doubts could crack a person, then split and shatter them just the same.
What to say, then?
“We will survive this. I’m sure of it,” he said. “One day we will walk out of here and be free again. But today, tomorrow, and the next day we will shape our two blocks.”
Nicola stared at the fire. She turned and faced the starry night. A falling star flashed on the western horizon.
“I believe you,” she said, just above a whisper.
Three weeks after her last visit, Unsha returned.
“Food here!” Unsha cried in her raspy voice.
Looking like she would burst, Nicola sprang to her feet, but Unsha held a withered finger to her lips, signaling for silence. The stooped woman eyed a pair of passing guards. After they had gone and Unsha dished up their food, they all huddled up together.
Nicola spoke first.
“What happened? Where have you been?”
“I was reassigned to the far end. The bearer there ‘gave up the work’.”
‘Gave up the work’Dain knew, was the Tyberon expression for a slave’s death.
“How are you here, then?” Nicola asked.
Unsha smiled crookedly.
“Fendal, the girl who had this area, came down sick tonight.” The old woman’s grin widened. “Might have been something she ate.”
There was a devious twinkle in the old woman’s eyes that gave Dain pause. If Unsha were capable of poisoning a fellow prisoner she was capable of more, much more, than he’d suspected.
And does it matter? She’s still our best and only chance at escape.
He didn’t suppose it did. The frail waif next to him, a skeletal frame in loose rags, had burned hundreds of men alive. Behind her clear gray eyes was the mind and soul of a remorseless killer. And who was he to judge either Nicola or Unsha? He himself had pillaged and razed a town. He fought and killed for wealth over honor. They had all done what they had to do in order to survive, and would do so
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