The Stoneweaver

Chapter 11: Scars

It was the next day. Skarn lay on a soft bed in a large room. Broca didn't skimp on his guests. In addition to the bed, which had a goose-down mattress, there was a mirror, an oak dresser stained a dark rose-red, and best of all, a window to the outside. With an actual view of water. The vast cavern wall in the distance was scored with rivulets of seeping ground water. The water trickled and gurgled, slowly carving another slice out of the stone, enlarging the cavern bit by bit. In a century, there'd be room for another row of shacks.

He had slept deep and long, exhausted from his ordeal. But now it was time to think. He reviewed last night's conversation.

Skarn had told Broca and Falf that he had no desire to overthrow the queen. But Broca had promised the change would be relatively bloodless.

"The revolution's coming, whether you like it or not," Falf had added. "It can be bloody and long, or short and quick. Your choice. But no matter what, the Royal Dynasty is over."

Skarn had his doubts about that. True, times had gotten worse in the kingdom. Control was slipping from the crown's grasp. It was more common to hear of small attacks on Royal Guards, especially in the slums.

Skarn had seen it himself, now that he was living in the poor neighborhood of Tria. And he heard of worse happening in the worst of the neighborhoods, like River Street.

But one of the reasons for the unrest, Skarn believed, was the new laws pushed by Erid. So if a revolution was coming, he was to blame. Skarn didn't want to help Erid put out a fire he had started himself.

Besides, except for the last few years of economic repression, the Royal House had preserved justice for several centuries. There had been relative peace.

And whatever Broca claimed, a swift change of rulers could easily slide into full-out civil war. That would mean a destruction of trade and tranquility. Blood in the streets. Picking sides, pitting neighbor against neighbor. Skarn had read histories of the early bloody days of Darem, before it had been united into one kingdom. He didn't want to see those stories brought back to life.

But suppose the rebellion was bloodless. Then what? Who would take over?

Erid Gur, Broca said. But not alone, the dwarf added hastily, after seeing the look of horror in Skarn's eyes. Erid would rule with the support and advice of a "People's Council." Broca himself would be a member, though he would remain in the Dungeon. The Dungeon itself would be opened up. People would be allowed to leave, Erid had promised.

"We don't need slave labor down here," Broca had said. "I can make a nice profit with the willing. And believe me, a lot of people have found better lives down here than in the slums on the surface."

Skarn remembered seeing the weaver on her doorstep. She had seemed content. So maybe Broca was telling the truth.

Maybe.

But there was one fact that remained lodged in Skarn's mind, as hard and unyielding as a lode of quartz in granite: Erid Gur was behind this. Erid Gur had tossed him in the Dungeon, to see if he'd survive the gwyrms.

Erid Gur, the architect of the labor lottery. Erid Gur, the man who had looked at Skarn as if he were a bug. If there's one thing Skarn could count on, it was that he could not trust the Trade Master.

All I want, Skarn thought as he lay in the soft bed, is to keep my family safe.

I could leave Darem, he thought. A master stoneweaver was in demand throughout the entire civilized world. He remembered the fleets of ships crowding the Phondraan harbor, thick as bees in a hive. He and his family could find passage on one of those ships to a new land.