“I would appreciate it if you would look into those,” Janis said, chewing on his lip. “Power-hungry nobles could cause us a good deal of trouble.”
“How so?” Khollo asked.
“They have a tendency to remove the source of problems rather than the problems themselves.” Ondus explained helpfully. “Rather like what Lord Clemon was planning to do when he arrived here.”
“Then we’ll just ride out, slaughter a vertaga, and bring it back to show them,” Khollo countered. “It worked on Clemon.”
Janis smiled wryly. “They would not make the same mistake that Orram made. They can do a lot without sending someone. They could terminate our supply lines, strip us all of rank and title, disband the garrison. Have I forgotten anything, Ondus?”
“Arrest us for treason?” the second in command suggested.
“Ah, yes, knew there was another common tactic that I was forgetting.” Janis turned back to Khollo. “Does that answer your question?”
“But . . . none of that would be right, or true,” Khollo protested.
Janis laughed bitterly. “Khollo, let me tell you a little secret: People in power don’t care what is true or right. Not in this world, anyways. To them, there is no right and wrong. Only power. The strong seek it. The weak do not.”
Khollo frowned. It’s hard to know if this is just typical cynical Janis or the truth, he reflected. Is it possible that we really are led by people who have no sense of right and wrong? Why would that be? Why has no one exposed them?
“That’s not right,” Khollo said, shaking his head.
“It’s the world, lad,” Leon said gently. “Lord Kurkan is right about the nobles, especially their ruling council. These are powerful men, and corrupt. Best to avoid their notice.”
But that only makes the problem worse, Khollo wanted to protest. But at that moment, one of the foremen crept into the council room nervously.
“Chief?” he asked uncertainly. “There’s some confusion about the stairs to the third level, where they go and such. We’re having a time trying to sort it out.”
“On my way,” Khollo replied. He grinned at the others. “We’ve found that it’s rather difficult, this working in reverse. Instead of building from nothing, we have to carve the passages and rooms out of the rock, so everything’s backwards.”
“That does sound challenging,” Janis observed. “But, that’s why you’re leading this project. You have a knack for conquering challenges.”
Khollo flushed with pleasure. “Thank you, Janis,” he replied, bowing slightly.
Janis smiled. “See to your stairs. I’ll keep everything else together.”
Khollo followed his foreman quickly down to ground level. The weather was surprisingly warm, one of those spells that always happens after midwinter, that tricks all of nature into thinking spring has arrived. Khollo knew better. If he was any judge, they’d have another blizzard before too long.
You’re almost as cynical as Janis, he thought wryly.
By the time Khollo sorted out the stair issue with his foremen, the sun was sinking in the west. He finished with a brief tour of the first level, noting the progress against his plans. The biggest problem was light. Lanterns hung at regular intervals, but the lack of natural light was depressing. The villagers didn’t seem to mind, though. It was warm underground, and secure, and for many those two things were more than enough to keep them happy.
That evening Khollo ate alone in his room in the tower, studying his book of mining while he ate. The council meeting had put him behind on his research. He had been looking into an interesting construction called a dome before the meeting. Theoretically, such a structure would be useful for efficiently spanning larger spaces. The intricacies of the design escaped him still, but he was beginning to understand how he might go about making one. From time to time, he scribbled notes and copied diagrams onto separate sheets of paper. When at last he had grown tired of domes, he sat back and stretched, yawning. He closed his eyes, and ancient runes danced across the darkness. This seemed to happen almost every time he read the old language, like it was becoming part of him. Or maybe it was just being imprinted on his brain as a result of all of his studying.
Khollo blew out the small lantern he had been using for light and retreated to his bed. Maybe tomorrow answers would come to him. Answers about domes, or maybe the elusive fortress in the Fells. Or, if he was lucky, maybe even new information on the mysterious voice.
Khollo fell asleep almost instantly. Visions of great underground kingdoms came to him, shifting and morphing before his eyes, from something resembling the new West Bank to grand structures so light and airy that they could not possibly stand, made of stone as they were.
Then, his dreams shifted. Everything was darkness, but he could see shapes. He was weak, very weak, and he could not move his arms or legs. Cold metal restrained him, bit into his flesh.
A guttural voice uttered something in a foreign language. There was movement, and then one of the restraints was loosened slightly. Out of the darkness stepped a vertag, leering at him horribly. But Khollo could get to it, now that the chains had been loosened. He lunged forward, and light blossomed between him and the vertag. Fire.
Khollo woke with a start, gasping for breath. He was lying on his stomach, on the floor of his room, his sheets tangled around his arms and legs. Restraints. That must have been what triggered the dream. It couldn’t have been another vision, could it?
If it was a vision,
