The Stoneweaver

Chapter 1: Keystone

Skarn's breathing slowed. He willed himself to become one with the stone. He shivered, his insides turning icy as his Talent woke. The tips of his fingers hardened and turned grey to match the tunnel wall. A tiny flicker of green light glowed at the edges of the stone.

"Hey! Slacker!" A lanky man sauntered toward him from the Square. Skarn jerked away from the wall and nearly fell over, disoriented from the sudden interruption of using his Talent.

"Drunk too?" said the man. "Boss'll love to hear this."

The man stood a head shorter than Skarn. He glared with his mouth open, which was unfortunate, since he was missing several of his front teeth. He was a member of the stoneworking crew today. His name, Skarn suddenly remembered, was Kull.

"Too good to be laying brick, is that it?" Kull accused. He jabbed a cement-crusted finger at Skarn's tool belt. "The master is too precious to work with the likes of us, huh?"

"I've already laid my quota of brick," said Skarn quietly. He hated the sound of the excuse, even though it was justified under the new labor rules.

Skarn had made short work of his morning quota. He had quickly and quietly laid his section of the rough red brick, brick that was half-baked and crumbling away at the edges, levelling the surface with his triangle plumbline. He had devoted only a small portion of his mind to the task.

"Seems to me you've only done half your work. Seems to me I done most of your patch," Kull was saying.

"That's a lie," said Skarn simply.

Kull and the others had sweated and grunted over their small section of uneven paving. Skarn had noted the sullen looks from the rest of his team as he quickly outpaced them. Now it was payback.

"How 'bout we get the foreman to decide who the liar is?" Kull asked with a smile. He was clearly impressed with his cunning.

"There are over a three dozen winesellers and tavern keepers in the Square," Skarn said dryly. "If you think you can find the foreman before our shift ends, be my guest."

Of course, finding the foreman might prove easier than that, especially if one of the crewmen knew the man's drinking habits. But Skarn kept his face impassive, even relaxed, hoping Kull wouldn't call his bluff.

Kull glared at Skarn. He took in Skarn's massive chest and arms, arms that had spent a lifetime lifting and shaping stone. Skarn could almost see the physical calculus slowly work its way through the man's mind, reaching the adamantine conclusion: Kull would lose a fight with the master stoneweaver.

Just then, a team of oxen rode toward the open Gates, pulling a long train of carts, each of which sagged to the ground under a heavy load. Skarn and Kull pressed themselves to the side of the tunnel.

The caravan of carts rumbled on the brick. Distinctive red canvas with a gold-embroidered sun marked the caravan as property of the Trade Guild. The Master of the guild, Erid Gur, was also High Warden of the prisons and minister to the Queen. He was also, Skarn thought sourly, the architect of the new labor laws.

If he's riding in that caravan, thought Skarn, it might not be such a bad time for the tunnel to collapse.

Erid Gur held the Queen's favor. Likely because he held most of the crown's debt. No wonder the man was so brazen: he dared to robe himself in the crimson and gold colors of the Royal House. Even his caravan was protected by Royal Guards. As the caravan rumbled by, the rear Guardsman appraised the two stoneworkers briefly and looked away, dismissing them as potential threats.

Kull gestured at the departing soldiers. "Suppose I just ask one of them," said Kull. "See what they say about a worker shirking his duties. Or call for the Guard at the gatehouse."