CHAPTER I

CAMP NATALON,
SECOND INTERVAL,
AFTER LANDING (AL) 494.1

Toldur gently laid the most injured of the rescued miners down on the floor of the lift. “Let’s go up, Cristov.”

Cristov grabbed one of the lift’s ropes while Toldur grabbed the other, and together they winched themselves and the lift up from the bottom of the mine.

At the top, helping hands reached out to grab the injured miner from them and haul him out of the mine. Toldur stepped out behind him only to pause as he noticed Cristov holding back.

“Are you all right?” Toldur asked, peering intently at the young miner.

“Yes.”

“You should be proud of yourself,” Toldur said, clapping one of his huge hands on Cristov’s back. “Though you’ve just turned twelve, today you did a man’s job—and made a man’s decision.”

They reached the mine entrance and found themselves lost in a throng of torches and milling voices. In the distance, Cristov could make out a number of shining eyes peering down from the hillside—dragons.

Alarmed, he picked out several dragonriders in the crowds, wondering if he’d have to defend his actions tonight.

“Is that the last of them, Toldur?” asked Margit, the camp’s healer. She squinted when she noticed Cristov. “I didn’t think he’d be here.”

“He helped,” Toldur explained, patting Cristov on the back once more. “Without him we wouldn’t have been in time.”

Margit started to say something but thought better of it, shaking her head and turning away.

Around him, the noises and the cheering of the rescued and rescuers faded in Cristov’s ears as he imagined what Margit wanted to say. He felt numb, lost.

And then, across the crowd, his gaze locked with his father’s.

Instead of smiling at him or giving him any sign of recognition, Tarik turned his head sharply away from his son, as though disowning him.

Cristov felt his face burn in shame, even though he knew it wasn’t right, that he was the one who should be ashamed of his father.

As he watched, Masterminer Britell and two miners he didn’t recognize approached his father.

“Tarik, I think you should come with us,” Britell said. “There will be an investigation.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Tarik growled angrily.

“Precisely.”

Cristov was wondering if he should follow when a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“You need to drink some of this,” Toldur said, pressing a warm mug into his hands. “And then you’ll need to get some rest.”

“But my father—”

“He’ll have to accept the consequences of his actions,” Toldur said, his voice flat.

Three days later, after Masterminer Britell, his assistant, Master Jannik, and Harper Zist had conducted an extensive investigation, the whole camp was summoned to the great room in Natalon’s house.

Cristov was familiar with the room; he had taken classes from Harper Zist there. The room was arranged as it usually was when Harper Zist was teaching, with one small table placed at one end and the remaining tables arranged in two long rows perpendicular to it. Cristov and his mother, Dara, sat near the end of their table, closest to the small table where Zist, Britell, and Jannik sat.

When everyone was seated, Masterminer Britell rose. “We have completed our investigation,” he told the room. “And I have communicated my findings to Lord Holder Fenner.”

A ripple of surprise spread through the room as people wondered why the Masterminer had needed to communicate with Crom’s Lord Holder.

Britell gestured to a group of men standing in the doorway and silence fell as Tarik marched into the room, flanked by two guards.

“Miner Tarik,” Britell said to him. “I have heard evidence that you did purposely steal the wood intended to shore up your mine-shaft and that you did purposely mine the pillars of your shaft. Will you explain what you did with the wood and the coal?”

“Who said I did any such thing?” Tarik demanded, seeking out Natalon among the crowd and glaring at him. “It’s all lies—”

“Among others, miners Panit and Kerdal,” Master Zist’s voice cut across Tarik’s outburst.

A vein bulged in Tarik’s forehead as he tried to jump out of the grasp of his guards, lunging toward Panit and Kerdal.

“You’re dead!” he shouted to them, struggling against his guards. “Dead!”

“Silence,” Zist said, his voice not loud but commanding.

Tarik fell silent, still glowering at Panit and Kerdal.

“Would you answer our question?” Britell said.

Tarik looked nervously around the room. He opened his mouth to speak but decided against it, shaking his head.

“Very well,” Britell said. “Miner Tarik, it is our conclusion that your actions did severely endanger the safety of the mine and directly caused the death of two miners. Further, it is our conclusion that you took your actions repeatedly, in full knowledge of the dangers you were creating and against the directions of Camp Natalon’s leader. Your actions were taken, we believe, for your own gain.”

Beside him, Cristov could see his mother shaking as silent tears wracked her body.

“Beyond that, when the mine did collapse as a result of your negligence, you purposely refused to allow any rescue attempts to the extent that you struck a child unconscious to prevent him from attempting a rescue,” Britell continued, his voice harsh with repressed rage. “There is also some question as to whether your orders to pump air into the mine after the shaft’s collapse were not an attempt on your part to ensure that there would be no survivors.”

“That’s not so,” Tarik protested feebly. He raised his head to look Masterminer Britell in the eyes. “I didn’t know, I swear!”

Britell glanced down to Masters Zist and Jannik. Master Zist made a dismissive gesture with his hand. Britell shrugged in response and nodded to Zist. With a slight sigh, Master Zist rose and faced Tarik.

“Are you prepared to hear our judgment?” Master Zist asked him.

“What about the Lord Holder?” Tarik protested. “Doesn’t he get a say?”

“He does,” Master Zist agreed. “And he has.” He lifted a small roll of parchment from the table. “I ask again, are you prepared for our judgment?”

Tarik shuffled on his feet as he nodded.

“Your actions indicate a disregard for the lives of others,” Zist said. “As such, it is our opinion that you should be released from the company of men.”

“Shunned?” Tarik cried in disbelief.

Cristov’s eyes went wide. Beside him, Dara let out a moan.

“Shunned and Nameless,” Masterminer Britell said.

Nameless? Cristov thought in despair. His father’s name would be taken away from him, never to be spoken again. Beside him, Dara collapsed.

“Further, for the rest of your days you will work at the pleasure of Lord Holder Fenner,” Britell continued.

As Cristov tried desperately to rouse his mother, a voice spoke softly in his ear, “Let’s get her out of here.”

It was Toldur. Dalor and Zenor stood beside him, faces grave and concerned.

“It’s all right,” Cristov protested as Toldur lifted Dara’s limp body over his shoulder.

“We miners take care of our own,” Dalor asserted, patting Cristov on the shoulder.

But as they left the crowded room with all eyes upon them, Cristov wondered how true that would hold for him and his mother in the Turns to come.