Chapter 9: The Eryndor Mines

Evening found Valerius, adorned in gold and jewels, in one of his private chambers. He reclined on a circular divan, idly eating grapes from a platter on the low table beside him, while watching with amusement as two naked girls grappled playfully on a plush rug before him. His foreman entered, his face etched with anxiety.

“My lord,” the foreman stammered, “a… a problem has arisen at the mines. Things have… escalated. Our brothers attacked the outside workers. A violent clash, my lord. The guards barely contained it. And our brothers… they’re still agitated. They threaten…”

“Threaten what?” Valerius prompted, his voice smooth and calm.

“…They threaten… you, my lord. They speak of… replacing you, as happened with Regulus.” The foreman hesitated. “I suggest we arrest some of the ringleaders, my lord. Especially the one who incited them. It would… restore order.”

Valerius chuckled, a low, sardonic sound. “My dear foreman, violence only begets more violence. Regulus is a prime example. And who orchestrated his downfall? A soldier. One of the very men we command.” He gestured to a guard standing silently in the corner. “Tell me, brother,” Valerius addressed the guard, “would you stand for such injustice? Such cruelty towards your own kin?”

“No, my lord,” the guard replied, his voice impassive.

Valerius turned back to the foreman, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “You see? They are hungry. They envy what you have. They sow seeds of doubt, hoping you’ll falter… and fall.”

Valerius rose and walked to the balcony, gazing out at the city below. “They ask themselves: ‘Why him and not me? Do I lack strength? Intellect? The favor of the Gods?’ And so, the questions fester, turning into despair. ‘Why am I here? What is my purpose? Why do the Gods ignore my prayers?’” His voice dropped, almost a whisper. “Until finally… they realize… they are nothing. A fleeting amusement in this grand cosmic play.” He paused, turning back to the foreman, his eyes gleaming. “Tell me, how do you deal with those who harbor such thoughts, yet have nothing to lose? Will you punish them… with death?” He smiled, a cruel, predatory expression. “Let me tell you… such thoughts… they are a curse. A curse that never dies.”

Valerius turned back to the foreman, his hand resting gently on the man's cheek. “Sleep soundly, my foreman. I will handle this. In the morning.”

“Yes, my lord,” the foreman murmured, bowing his head and retreating from the room.

In the morning, in Eryndor, Valerius stood on a raised platform, his foreman and guards beside him, addressing the assembled Aslilian and foreign workers.

“Miners of Eryndor,” he began, his voice carrying across the open space, “I’ve been informed of… yesterday’s… unpleasantness. I understand your… frustrations.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in. “Therefore, after careful consideration, and in the best interests of our kingdom’s prosperity, and to preserve the… harmony… among our brothers, I have decided that the outsiders… will receive no wages.”

A cheer erupted from the Aslilian workers, as if they had won a great victory. The outsiders, however, murmured in discontent.

Suddenly, Valerius raised his voice. “And you, my brothers… you too will receive no wages.” A wave of stunned silence washed over the crowd.

“Instead,” Valerius continued, a sly smile playing on his lips, “I offer you something… better. We will buy what you extract from the mines. At a fair price, based on the rarity and quality of your finds. Many of these mines hold sacred materials, and you will sell them exclusively to us. We will reward your efforts appropriately. We need every hand working. However…” he paused, his voice dripping with false sincerity, “…out of respect for my Aslilian brothers, sons of this land, you will have the first choice of which mines to work. Every Aslilian will be assigned a mine before the outsiders are given their… leavings.”

He continued, his tone becoming more businesslike, “There are large mines, medium mines, and small mines. Form teams of four. Coordinate amongst yourselves. Decide who will choose first, and inform the overseers. They will register your claims and issue permits. Guard these permits carefully. There will be no replacements.”

Valerius’s voice hardened. “This is my final offer. If it doesn't suit you… there are always the caravans. Now, get to work. May your yields be bountiful.”

With that, Valerius turned and departed. The Aslilian workers immediately began discussing and forming teams, while the outsiders huddled amongst themselves, their expressions grim.

Lysander approached a group of Aslilian miners, trying to glean information. “What about us? What about our team?”

“You and your three friends… you’re a team,” one of the miners replied. “Just find a fourth member.”

“Just us?” Lysander asked, incredulous. “But we have no experience in the mines!”

“Find someone to complete your team,” the miner said dismissively. “Everyone else is organized. You’re the only ones left. Figure it out.”

“And what about… choosing a mine?” Lysander asked.

The miner laughed. “You’ll be last, of course. You’re the least experienced.”

Lysander’s face flushed with anger. “Last?! We stood with you yesterday! We fought! I see new faces here today who weren't there! Why are we last?!”

“Listen, boy,” the miner snapped, “I don’t have time for your whining. If you don’t like it, leave. Find work elsewhere. If I were you, I’d find a fourth member… fast.”

Lysander, seething, returned to Davos and Bran. “We’re last,” he said, his voice tight with frustration. “No one wants to team up with us.”

“What are we going to do?” Bran asked, his voice filled with worry. “No one will join us.”

“Can we take an outsider?” Davos asked.

“Let’s wait and see how things shake out,” Lysander said, his eyes scanning the crowd. “We’ll find someone… someone who looks like they know what they’re doing.”

A young woman, Amara, approached them from the group of outsiders. "May I join your team?" she asked.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The three young men stared at her, surprised.

“No one over there wants me,” she explained, gesturing toward the outsiders. “Because I’m a woman. And… I saw you were short a member. They’ll be registering teams soon, and… you’ll be last. I can… I can be of use to you.”

“Do you have… experience in the mines?” Lysander asked, his skepticism evident.

Amara smiled, her eyes bright. “Yes.”

“We need to talk,” Lysander said, pulling Davos and Bran aside.

“A girl?” Bran whispered. “Are you sure? Do we even have a choice?”

“Trust me on this,” Lysander replied, his voice low. “I have a feeling about her. Don’t let her… appearance… fool you. She’ll be an asset.”

They returned to Amara. “Welcome to the team,” Lysander said.

“Thank you,” Amara replied, her smile genuine.

A few Aslilian miners nearby laughed, pointing at their mixed-gender team.

“Those arrogant bastards,” Bran muttered. “They’re mocking us.”

“Ignore them, Bran,” Lysander said, his voice firm. “We’ve faced worse. This isn't going to stop us. We’ll succeed. All four of us.”

“That’s the spirit, Lysander!” Davos exclaimed.

“Come on,” Lysander said. “Let’s get in line.”

Finally, their turn came. They reached the registration clerk, who unfurled a map marked with available mine claims. Lysander saw that all the large and medium claims were already taken, marked with a prominent “X.” Only the small claims remained.

“Damn it,” Lysander muttered. “Only the small ones left. What are we supposed to choose?”

Amara pointed to a small claim high on a mountainside. “Trust me,” she said. “Choose that one.”

Lysander hesitated, but Davos and Bran urged him on. He reluctantly agreed. The clerk gave them each a small wooden tag on a leather cord—their mining permit.

“Guard these with your lives,” the clerk warned. “Lose it, and you’re out.”

They secured the tags around their necks and went to select a cart. Only one remained, a rickety contraption pulled by a swaybacked horse.

“I’ll prepare the cart,” Lysander said. “You two get the supplies.” He turned to Amara. “And you… gather the mining tools.”

Soon, they were on their way, Lysander driving the cart, the others crammed in the back.

“What’s your name ?” Bran asked Amara.

“Amara,” she replied, smiling.

“And what are your names?” Amara asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.

“Lysander,” Bran replied, gesturing to his friend. “And Davos. I’m Bran.”

“Pleased to meet you all,” Amara said, smiling. A few moments later, her head tilted, her ears twitching slightly. She sniffed the air. “Faster, Lysander,” she urged. Then, with a sudden movement, she leaped from the cart and vanished into the trees.

Lysander, Davos, and Bran exchanged puzzled glances. Moments later, she reappeared, three plump rabbits dangling from her hands. She tossed them into the cart. “We’ll need more than dried rations,” she said. “It could be days before we find anything.”

The three young men stared at her, impressed by her speed and agility. They continued their journey, the terrain growing steeper and more rugged as they approached the mountain. The entrance to their mine, a small, dark opening high on the mountainside, seemed impossibly distant.

“Let’s set up camp here,” Lysander suggested, gesturing to a relatively flat area near the base of the mountain. “Then we can explore the mine properly.”

They unloaded the cart and began setting up their tents and organizing their supplies. "I’ll scout the path," Amara offered, once they had established a basic camp. "Make sure it's safe."

With effortless grace, she scaled the steep slope, reaching the mine entrance in minutes. She tossed down a rope. "Come on up!" she called. "And bring the supplies."

Slowly, hand over hand, they climbed the rope, hauling their gear. The narrow, cramped space of the mine awaited them. Amara lit a torch, its flickering flame revealing the rough-hewn walls of their new claim.

Inside the narrow confines of the mine, Davos, Lysander, Bran, and Amara began their work. Amara, pointing to a section of the rock face, handed Davos a pickaxe.

“Start here,” she instructed.

Davos, his powerful muscles rippling, swung the pickaxe with precise, powerful blows. Chunks of rock fell away.

“You were born for this, Davos,” Amara said, impressed. “Such strength, such precision.”

“Aye,” Bran agreed. “He doesn’t say much, but he gets the job done.”

Amara directed the others, showing them where to focus their efforts. Once they were all working, she began to speak, her voice low. "I… I admire your people. The way you stood together, demanded fair wages… it’s inspiring.”

Lysander looked at her, surprised. “Why do you say that?”

“Where I come from,” Amara explained, her voice softening, “we were… slaves. Forced to work for nothing.”

“Where do you come from?” Bran asked.

"My homeland… it was barely a kingdom. A small, insignificant holding. Bordered the Valdrin…" They conquered us. Took our land, forced us into their mines. That’s how I learned this trade.” She paused, a shadow crossing her face. “I escaped. I’ve been wandering ever since. Moving from kingdom to kingdom. When I heard about the work here… I came.”

“You’ve seen your share of hardship,” Theron said to Amara, noticing the distant look in her eyes.

“It has been… a long journey,” Amara replied. “But I am grateful to be here, with you.”

They continued to work, the hours passing slowly. As evening approached, they emerged from the mine, weary and sore. They returned to their campsite and gathered around a small fire, their meager rations spread out before them.

Bran, picking at his dried meat, let out a groan. “Gods, I’m exhausted! We’ve been digging all day and found nothing! Not a single gemstone, not a scrap of crystal. At this rate, we’ll be eating our bootlaces before we find anything worthwhile.”

Lysander turned to Amara. “What’s the plan here, Amara?” The lighthearted mood evaporated, replaced by a sudden tension. “We've found nothing. You told me to trust you, but… this isn't right. We should have found something by now. Even a sliver of common crystal. Explain yourself.”

Amara was silent for a moment. She picked up a stick and began drawing in the dirt, recreating the map they had seen at the registration office. “This is the layout of the mines,” she said, pointing to her sketch. “We chose this claim. High up, far from the heart of the mountain. The larger claims, the ones your brothers took, are clustered down there, in the center. Vast and rich. I chose this small claim… deliberately. Because all the small claims are like this one—difficult, unproductive. But this one… this one puts us directly above the largest mine. The one where at least four teams are working.” She paused, her eyes gleaming. “We intersect their tunnels. From above.”

“Which is why we’re digging west,” Lysander said, understanding dawning on his face. “To intercept them. To be… above them.”

“Precisely,” Amara said, her eyes gleaming. "We want to be above them.” Lysander, his gaze fixed on the map, narrowed his eyes.

“Is that even possible?” he murmured.

“It is,” Amara assured him.

Davos and Bran looked confused. Bran’s frustration grew. “Explain yourselves! What are you talking about? Davos and I don’t understand. What’s the plan?”

Lysander, a slow smile spreading across his face, turned to his friends. “It’s brilliant. We dig laterally. Westward. We’ll be directly above one of the larger claims. And then…” he paused for effect, “…we breach their tunnels.”

“Breach?” Bran repeated, still confused.

“We rob them,” Lysander clarified, his excitement growing. “We take what they find.”

Bran and Davos stared at him, then at Amara.

“That’s what I intend,” Amara confirmed, her gaze steady. “They treated you poorly. Dismissed you. Ignored you. I saw it. From the beginning. They wronged you. And they wronged us. We deserve compensation. We either find nothing… or we take what's rightfully ours.”