Vitiosi Dei (Heritage of the Blood Book 2) (23 page)

“Well,” Olivia said after a quiet sigh. “Maybe that person would do everything they could to be near you or touch you whenever you were around.”

“Or they might squeal in glee every time they see you someplace they didn’t expect to,” Vivianne added with a smirk.

“I do not squeal!” Olivia hissed before realizing that she had just given Shawnrik the last hint that he needed.

Going over the past several Eightdays, Shawnrik realized that every time he had seen Olivia she had jumped onto him, or had her hand on his arm. He could feel his eyes widening as he realized that Olivia had just said, in a roundabout fashion, that she liked him.

“Oh, that’s precious,” Rebecca said.

Olivia let go of his arm and moved up to where Sara was looking at some scarves. Shawnrik looked back at Verrian for help but noticed that his friend seemed to be having his own realization as he looked between one arm and the other; Rebecca on his left, Vivianne on his right. Syranna walked past Shawnrik with a small sigh of her own, she bumped into his left arm as she moved past.

“You didn’t tell him?” Vivianne asked Verrian, drawing the young man out of his stupor.

“Well, I mean…” Verrian said, “…I thought it was kind of obvious, but I’m starting to realize that maybe it wasn’t to him. Maybe he thought she was just the friendly sort, and didn’t know to read anything into it.”

“Oh, and maybe he’s not the only one who hasn’t been picking up on the appropriate signals?” Rebecca smiled and pecked Verrian’s cheek before moving off.

“You aren’t that dense, are you, Verrian?” Vivianne’s eyes danced with a knowing mirth before she gave him a peck on his other cheek and moved to join the girls who were now loudly discussing which scarf was better.

Shawnrik moved next to Verrian, putting his hand on his roommate's shoulder.

“Girls,” Verrian said with a sigh, though a smile began to tug the side of his lips higher.

“Yeah, girls,” Shawnrik replied with a sigh of his own. “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Verrian replied. “But it might still be fun nonetheless.”

Mine

              They had gone down into the mines to work twice since his fight with the Orc. His last two periods of sleep had been restless. Every time he closed his eyes, he could feel Warak’s cold gaze on his back. His two Goblin friends had apologized several times for drawing the Orc’s attention to the boy, and though he was mad about the fight he couldn’t hold it against his fellow slaves. He had asked them what it was that they had been saying to the other Goblins, and they had replied with half answers that he didn’t really believe.

              It didn’t really matter what they had said to the other Goblins. He knew that they must all think him an oddity. A child working the mines alongside them. Their speculation on what was wrong with him or who he had angered reached his ears in the small hours of the night, as they had with the previous group of slaves who had died in the cave-in.

              There were only two people in the cell who didn’t look at him like he had some sort of sickness. One was Warak’s Orc companion Grelesh, who since the fight had looked upon the boy as if he were clay in need of molding. The other was the strange, squat Goblin that sat away from the others. His light blue eyes held a gleam of intelligence that the boy had only seen reflected in the eyes of the Blood Mage that had helped deliver the new batch of slaves. Those eyes tickled a memory in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t quite catch hold of it.

             
Where have I seen that color before?

              They had just begun mining when the boy realized that he wasn’t at the end of the line of miners. He had been the last one out of the cell for so long that he hadn’t realized the squat Goblin had waited for him to get into line before him. The realization interrupted his rhythm long enough for one of the guards to yell at him to get back to work. Several dozen swings later he looked over to see the squat Goblin eyeing him as the man’s powerful body swung relentlessly at the rock in a powerful staccato.

              “What?” The boy whispered in goblin.

              “Who, and what are you?” The Goblin replied in a language that the boy knew he had only heard before in his dreams. Draconic.

              “I don’t know, and what are you?” The boy replied in the low hisses of the dragon tongue.

              A small smile crept onto the face of the squat man. “I am Pershanti. My people are called the Grenaldins in the old parlance.”

              “Well, pleasure to meet you Pershanti, I’m called Tunnel Rat, boy, or freak, take your pick.”

              “Tunnel Rat might be who you are now, but it is not who you were, nor is it who you will become,” Pershanti said, his rhythm uninterrupted by the conversation he was holding in whispers with the boy.

              “What will I become, then?” the boy asked, his swings making a counterpoint between his neighbors every other swing.

              “Something not to be reckoned with, if I am correct in guessing who you are.”

              “Who am I?” the boy asked, his voice rising to a level that made one of the guards look in their direction.

              After several moments, the guard’s attention wavered, seeing that his charges were doing their work.

              “I know not your name, but my people long ago put forth a theory as to how to make someone like you come about. I am so glad that Cypheria has seen fit to guide me here. There is so much I can tell you!” Pershanti became so animated that he missed his next swing, ruining his rhythm. In the moment of silence that followed, a yell was heard emanating from the front of the mine.

              “Did you hear that?” the guard nearest them said, getting the attention of the others. In the silence that followed, his question traveled as a small concussion of sound, speeding through the mine and alerting everyone that something was amiss. Two of the four guards sped off towards the cells to see what was going on, while the other two guards spread out along the line of slaves, their eyes swiveling between their charges and the darkness that their compatriots had disappeared into.

              These men were used to dealing with slaves that had resigned themselves to their fate, so they were caught by surprise when Warak swung his axe high over his head as if he was going to get a solid hit at the wall. A third of the way down, however, he switched the momentum of his swing and brought it out and around into the chest of the guard nearest him. The final guard, hearing the impact behind him, turned around and started to pull his sword while backing towards the front of the cave.

              Pershanti sprung on the guards back, wrapping the chain that was looped between his wrists around the man’s neck. The guard tried to swing at the Grenaldin, but what little contact he could make scored only minor cuts. Realizing that his swings weren’t doing anything, the guard managed to reverse his grip on his sword hilt and was preparing to thrust the weapon behind him into his attacker. Choosing between the guard’s life and Pershanti’s was an easy choice for the boy, who sunk his pickaxe into the guard’s chest before the Grey Elf swung his arm back. The guard’s sword dropped from his hand, which no longer possessed the strength to wield it as his life blood ran out onto the mine floor.

              “Thanks for that,” Pershanti said before he flipped the guard’s body over and tore the key ring off the man’s belt.

              Looking down the mine at the rest of the slaves, the boy realized that Warark’s companion Grelesh had much the same idea and was currently working to unlock his manacles. Pershanti unlocked the shackles around the boy’s ankles after removing his own, and when he moved up to unlock those around the boy’s wrists, he seemed to realize that they had no key hole.

              “How do they remove these?” Pershanti asked.

              “They don’t,” the boy shrugged. “They just slide the chain through and take it back out when I’m done.”

              Pershanti placed his hand on one of the blood red manacles and pulled it back quickly as if he had been burned. “I see,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I don’t know what is going on, but you should crawl into that air vent over there until we figure it out. I will make sure the others know to keep their mouths shut.”

Pushing the boy towards the vent, Pershanti helped hoist him up into it, giving out advice the whole way. “If for some reason we are separated, I will try to make my way back to the front of this mine within the next few days. If by some strange act of Thom I don’t make it back by three days, I want you to gather any supplies that are left and start heading south. There is a forest a few weeks' journey from here that you might be able to survive in if you are crafty enough.”

There wasn’t enough room in the vent for him to turn around, and the boy knew that he should crawl far enough in so that his feet were well hidden from view. He heard a lot of quiet conversations going on between the Goblins, with a few deep throated interjections from the Orcs that were quickly silenced. It sounded like the last of the slaves had been unlocked from their fetters when a loud voice reverberated through the tunnel.

“Oye, you lot.” Silence followed. The only sounds the boy could hear were that of his own quiet breathing and the shuffling of feet outside his hiding spot. “Just put your picks down and there won’t be any trouble.”

“Oh, Borathar, they are obviously slaves,” a feminine voice said. “You fellows aren’t going to try to hurt us after we just helped you get free, are you?” The way she asked the question made the boy want to agree immediately, but he held still and kept his breathing shallow.

“Slaves, aye Erin, along with a pair of Blood Orcs and a fargin Grenaldin,” the voice that must belong to Borathar replied.

“A Grenaldin? My, what are you doing in such inhospitable conditions?” The female voice that the boy guessed belonged to Erin asked.

“Well, my lady,” Pershanti began. “You see, I was out stargazing away from our compound one night when I was set upon by several Dracairei. I was then taken to Siniquity in order for the Mages there to try to wrest any knowledge that they could from me. After a year of trying and failing, they decided to send me here to be of some use while they thought up new ways in which to extract what they want.”

“I see,” Erin replied. “You didn’t by chance happen to see a young boy around here, did you?”

“I did!” Pershanti said, excitement in his voice. “He was here when we arrived several days ago.” His voice suddenly lost the excited tone. “Unfortunately, the Blood Mage Temendri and his lackey Walkins seemed to have plans for the boy, and they left the next morning.”

“Walkins?” Borathar growled before making a sound that the boy thought might have been a spit. “Of course that rat is around. First time we get close to the boy, and that gnome endowed waste of flesh beats us to it. Nim isn’t going to be happy.”

“Nim has got bigger things to deal with now, and we’ve got to get these people to a safe settlement. It snowed for the last several days, so there is very little chance of us picking up the trail anyway. If I find that boy I’m going to strangle him before I let Nim at him.”

The boy was suddenly very glad that he was hiding in the vent, as it seemed that these new people were looking for him specifically. It didn’t sound like whatever they had planned for him would be nice. Shortly thereafter, he heard the group shuffle towards the front of the mine shaft and their cell and the guard’s living area. He didn’t know how long he waited until he began to slowly inch his way back out of the vent, but after a long staring contest in the dark with a spider the size of his hand he decided that it was time.

When he dropped to the floor of the mine tunnel, he found the stripped bodies of the Grey Elves. Everything that might be useful had been removed, all the way down to and including their underwear. The sight of the two dead men was rather disconcerting. Each had a large hole in the center of their chest, and both stared at the roof of the tunnel, their eyes hazed over in the glassy stare of death.

Taking his time on his way towards the front of the tunnel, the boy moved only a few steps at a time, taking a break between movements to listen for any activity. He didn’t hear anything until he was almost back to the cell that he had lived in for as long as he could remember.

“Alright, you lot. We’ll do what we can to keep ye warm on the journey, but we’re going to have to make haste,” the voice belonging to Borathar stated.